


Ballerinas and Barricades: The Mystery of the Cloud Castle

by StarshipRangerBoyWonder



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, F/M, M/M, Multi, Real Men Wear Tights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarshipRangerBoyWonder/pseuds/StarshipRangerBoyWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Marius Pontmercy is accepted as a member of the l'ABC dancing troupe at Rue Plumet Academy of the Arts, he is thrust into a bright new environment full of hipsters, chicks, and jerks on campus. With his new band of friends and heart-stopping partner, Cosette, he couldn't be happier! Marius learns new things that a young, rich boy usually shouldn't know. Things like the ins and outs of sex, how to hot wire a golf cart, what exactly gymnasts like in a partner, and how to woo the girl of your dreams before graduation. But what happens when that's all interrupted by the mysterious murder of Headmaster Lamarque, the second in the school's history since Headmistress Fantine's killing, and are somehow all connected? Can they clear Valjean's name and their owns? And - most important - can l'ABC win finals against Javert's Home for Achievers?</p><p>From the viewpoint of Marius, but has a heavy amount of just everybody. Enjoy the Marius naivety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ballerinas and Barricades

**Author's Note:**

> So I promised this ages ago but that never happened because it's been the last week of school but here you go. Also, my rp is still looking for a Bossuet and a Combeferre. We are in desperate need.
> 
> The rp: todaysgoneby-rp.tumblr.com is a modern les mis roleplay in dire need of a Bossuet and a Combeferre. We also accept OCs. Please, please, please, though, help us fit in the canon characters. Thank you, lovelies.

It was a dreary, dark kind of day. The kind of day where the sun was not even visible behind the wall of clouds that barricaded the sky. The kind of day where it seemed as though the sky would pour rain upon every innocent head yet didn’t until they had a large load of groceries in paper bags or an uncovered Prom dress. It was the kind of day that was humid and wet until the wind blew by and took your essay with it for a dip in a mud puddle.  
In other words, today was completely opposite Marius’s mood.

The excited fifteen-year-old bounced up and down in his seat, causing a horrid squeaking of his jean buttons against the material of the car seats. It must have been very annoying, because this wasn’t the first time that his grandfather had turned sharply and hushed the blithering idiot his dying son had created. God bless, Marius was like a damn three-year-old sometimes.

“Marius Azeia Pontmercy!” his grandfather snapped, turning his head to glare at the boy through the rear-view mirror.

Marius’s eyes shot wide in fear and he settled. The teen looked down in shame, but let his gaze go upward and watch his grandfather’s eyes. When he noticed the elderly man was still glaring at him, he sat back up and cocked his head.

“What is it, grandfather?” he asked in innocence. However, with the look his grandfather gave him, he could have just murdered David Tennent.

“It’s you!” said the man. “You’re jumping around back there like a crab’s nipping at your balls!”

“Granddad, that’s disgusting…”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s disgusting! You’re being fecking annoying!” his grandfather yelled.

Marius threw his hands up in defence. “Well, what do you want me to do?” he squealed.

“Stop! Bloody stop, you damned eejit!” the elder groaned. “Just. Stop.”

“Fine…”

Five seconds later… squeak squeak squeak…

“God dammit, Marius, I will turn this car around right now!”

“That would be a waste of time, Granddad. All that driving for nothing.”

Contrary to his grandfather’s belief, Marius really wasn’t a bad kid, and he definitely wasn’t any dunce… Okay, so the light bulb wasn’t always on up there, but he truly was a bright young lad. He had nothing but B’s and A’s in all his classes, regularly contributed through community service on his own will, but it was what he did in the ballroom that made Marius such a genius in reality. Marius Azeia Pontmercy was a universally known and award winning dancer and his talents lay most strongly within a waltz or a tango, but that did not limit him, and people had words to say of his expertise in ballet.

Of course, his grandfather (or entire family for that matter) did not think of this as such an accomplishment. In their eyes, every young person should know how to dance as well as Marius from age three, but that did not mean they would give the talented boy any sort of recognition. Besides, his parents were too consumed with the fact that he may be a dancer instead of a lawyer. Marius was also assured that they were betting on his coming out any day now.  
Being accepted into the l’ABC Dance Troupe at Rue Plumet Academy of the Arts was the most fantastic moment of Marius’s life. He remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it had actually happened about three months ago. A couple weeks after his recital with his old dance school, he had received a letter from Rue Plumet, and after he read it for the tenth time to assure he wasn’t dreaming, the teen had screeched so loud that his mother’s favourite wine glass broke. For a split second, Marius was afraid he wouldn’t be able to go because they were spending so much money to try to reverse his father’s critical condition, but he then read that he was provided with a full scholarship, which provoked another shriek of joy.

Now, today, September 1st, he was starting at the school two months into the semester.

When they pulled up to the academy, Marius took in the humble school with affection and admiration, while his grandfather just scoffed at how simple the place was. Truth be told, it was no Buckingham Palace, but the dormitories were small houses that lined up next to each other on a cobblestone street, and the school building sat at the end in the middle of them like it was the Disney castle or something. Each dorm home was decorated depending on who was inside. Some houses had masks on the front for acting, while others had instruments or musical notes. Still, others had paintbrushes or computers or tap shoes or sowing kits.

The students walked up and down the cobblestone while some road bikes. In the middle of the campus was a large square with a fountain in the centre. It was a three way intersection, on road leading to the front gates, one to the school building, one to what looked like a performance hall, and another to the activities area. On each corner was a different building; one corner had a worn looking café called the Musain, another had a park, another had a clothing shop, and the last one had a supplies store.  
When they had driven up to the school, a relaxed looking man and a young girl were standing there waiting for them. Marius stepped out and a pair of girls ran over, offering to help with bags. His grandfather asked if they were attendees and they replied that they were simply students.

“Nice to meet you, M. Pontmercy,” said the man as he stuck out his hand to Marius’s grandfather.

“And the same to you, Monsieur,” his grandfather replied.

Marius was helping the two girls get his trunk and cargo bag from the car when a boy with chopped hair ran up and handed him a flyer. “Hey, new kid,” he greeted. “We’re having a concert out here tonight! You should come meet everybody.”

Marius took the flyer and looked it over, a stupid grin spreading across his face. “Seems fun! Will do!” he said. “I’m Marius. Dance.”

“Bjorn. Martial Arts and Show Combat,” the other boy said. “Listen, I have to go hand out more flyers, but I hope to see you there tonight. And good luck!”

Just then, his grandfather came up around him and yanked the colourful flyer from his fingers. The old man read it over, the look of disgust on his face becoming more prominent with every sentence. “Come meet everybody? Be friends with the entire campus?” the man gasped. “Bleeding impossible!”

“Granddad, you must remember this school only has one hundred and fifty students,” Marius muttered, taking the flyer back.

The other man cleared his throat and motioned to the girl (the others had politely gotten his dorm number and taken his trunk for him on their golf cart) at his side. She nodded and stepped forward. “I’m Éponine,” she said, sticking out her hand and giving him a firm shake. “I’ll be giving you the tour because M. Valjean has a class to teach.”

“Alright…”

Marius turned toward his grandfather. He licked his lips nervously. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he mumbled.

“Stay out of trouble,” his grandfather said warmly, patting the boy on the shoulder and getting back in the car.

“Well,” said Éponine awkwardly. “Let’s be off, shall we? See you M. Valjean… Come, Marius…”

“How do you know my name?’ he asked as they made their way up the stairs to the building.

“Everyone’s been talking about you for the past two months!” she exclaimed. “We were so excited to have a new dancer added to the troupe. We thought we may have to drop out of competition this year because Cosette lost her dance partner.”

“Cosette?” Marius questioned. “I’ll be dancing with her, yes?”

“Yes,” Éponine said. “Wow, Marius…”

“What?”

“Your eyes,” she muttered.

“My eyes?” he parroted.

The girl blushed and looked down. “They’re very lovely…”

“Oh, well thanks,” came Marius.

The pair walked down a long spiral staircase and the mixed sounds of a dozen different songs beat against Marius’s eardrum. As they walked down the hall, he noticed the hilarious combination of concert posters, recital photos, defaced inspirational quotes, candid pictures, and crayon drawings that covered the walls. It took him a second to remember that some of these kids had been there since kindergarten. An extreme case of low self-image hit him like a rock, and he became very nervous as Éponine pushed open the door that said “STUDIOS” in big letters.

“Right now only the troupe members are practicing,’ Éponine explained. “We get six hours a day to practice without the other students butting in – unless me want them in.”

“Six hours… That’s good… Enough time for my three classes,” Marius sighed in relief. He had been so nervous that he wouldn’t be able to fit in the three classes he was still required to take daily.

“Yes, it is enough time. And we don’t have to use our hours, they’re just provided, seeing as we have more shows than the others,” she said. They passed the first studio and Marius saw two men practicing step-two-threes in pairs of worn gillies. One had curly hair and a black wife beater with “JIG PRIDE” written in green cross the back, and the second teen was sporting a pair of glasses that seemed to be falling off his nose. “That’s Courfeyrac and Combeferre. They’re Irish step dancers.”

The second studio across the hall was blaring loud hip-hop, and inside was a middle-school aged girl with hair like Éponine’s in a pair of booty shorts and sneakers, and at her side was a man Marius’s age in sweatpants and tennis shoes. Éponine stuck her head in and yelled over the music, “Azelma! Bahorel! I’ll be back for practise when I’m done showing new guy around!”

Azelma nodded and they walked to the third studio while Éponine explained that she and her sister, Azelma, did street dance with some beefcake named Bahorel. Inside the third studio was two shirtless boys dulling knives while a girl beside them pulled her leg over her head in a scorpion stretch. Marius nervously turned to Éponine for an explanation,  
and she laughed.

“The one with the bandages around his arms and chest is Lesgle. Joly is the boy who keeps blowing his hair out of his eyes. Musichetta is the girl.”

“And the knives…?”

“They’re lyrical,” she said. “Like, their dancing tells a story. Come along now.”

Still confused, Marius followed. Knives in dance must be very hard to deal with. He would need to ask them trio how exactly that worked out without death and injury happening.  
But then, that Lesgle kid had bandages all over his body while the others looked completely untouched.

“They’re gorgeous!” Marius gasped. He was looking inside a ballet studio with two males in ballet shirts and tights. They both had skinny, feminine bodies and warm smiles that made Marius gush. One of them had strawberry blond curls with flowers wove into almost each twist of hair. The second had curls as well, and a wristband that portrayed the flag of Poland. Marius wondered if he was Polish.

“He’s not,” Éponine muttered, gaining back his attention. “Feuilly just reeeeeally likes Poland. More than Enjolras loves France.”

Marius snorted. “So Feuilly and flower child are ballet, yes?”

“You got it!” she exclaimed, punching his shoulder jokingly, but the boy grabbed it in pain. “You’re smart…”

“Thank you…” He blushed. “Any more?”

“Yes! My brothers are in tap! Oh, you’ll love them! They’re working on a piece from The Boy from Oz!” Éponine grinned and took his arm, dragging him down a crook in the hall to another studio with four adorable little boys that practically made Marius’s heart melt.

Éponine opened the door and waved to them. The boy in front, this one with dirty blond hair, pressed a remote and the music stopped. Marius recognized the piece from Newsies well. “’Ponine!” the little boy whined, the other three crossing their arms in annoyance.

“Gav!” she hissed in mock, swaggering over and messing up his long strands of hair more than they already were. The other boys pulled him back as they all wretched.

“Ew! Cooties! ‘Ponine gave you cooties, Gavroche!” squealed the little boy with a baseball hat and a buzz cut Mohawk.

“I know, Marzi!’ Gavroche spat. “Henri! Get me a wipe!”

The boy who looked exactly like Marzi shook his head. “Sebastian used ‘em all, Gav.”

Gavroche glared at the smallest child. The skinny kid looked down if he was going to cry, but Gav picked up his chin and shook his head. “Don’t cry, Sebastian, y’didn’t do anythin’ wrong!”

Sebastian wiped his teary eyes and nodded. Éponine was giggling softly and hanging onto Marius’s arm. “Yeah, so these cuties are tap,” she told him. “They’re some of the youngest students here.”

“This school goes to…?”

“First grade to twelfth.”

“Right… Well, is that all?” Marius walked out of the boys’ studio as to not disrupt them further.

Éponine shook her head. “Oh, no! We still need to show you Enjolras and R, then of course you need to meet Cosette.”

“Sounds like a plan!” He smiled and looked at her. “May I call you ‘Ponine, too?”

She blushed brightly. “If you wish, I don’t see why not.”

“Great, because I like it. ‘Ponine definitely suits you,” he said.

“Wow…” Éponine mumbled, biting her lip and turning a shade of red to rival the highlights of Marius’s hair.

Unfortunately, the girl didn’t notice when she walked face first into the door of the next to last studio. A teen inside made to jump off his pole, but his partner pointed a threatening finger, and he stuck out his tongue before sprinting over and helping Éponine up because Marius was too dumbstruck to do a damn thing.

“Nice work, dumbass,” the guy (who, by the way, had the most attractive mop of brown curls on his head with a pair of sleepy eyes) laughed, looking over Éponine. “What got you distracted?”

He looked up at Marius.

 

“Oh, so new guy hot buns…”

Marius cocked his head and sputtered a bit. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m just joshing you,” he said. “Hey, I’m Grantaire. Just call me R.”

“Right, because Grantaire is like Grand R… Gran… taire… Gran… ar… Grand… R…” Marius mumbled, getting quieter and less enthusiastic as he spoke.

“Yes, genius…”

Éponine struck him on the cheek. “Don’t be rude! Marius is saving this troupe!” she squeaked.

“I know that,” sighed R. “He’s gonna be with the Blond Bubbles and Beauty herself.”

“Galinda?” asked Marius.

The look he got was damn comical.

From behind Grantaire came a teen the same size as Marius and R, except he looked like a god with his flowing hair and chiselled features that just spoke power. R gulped and gazed at his companion, a look of admiration occupying his face. The blond stuck out his hand sharply.

“Enjolras. Pole Dancer.”

Marius snorted a bit, but shook the other student’s hand. Enjolras was not amused.

“Exactly what is wrong with that?” he asked, taken aback.

“No!” Marius gasped. “No! I mean… It’s just… They – people – typically associate pole dancing with… you know…”

“Yeah, strippers. Lovely Ladies. We know,” Enjolras snapped.

Grantaire stood and put a hesitant hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Calm down, Apollo,” he muttered. “He didn’t mean any offense.”

“He still said it.”

“Yes… I know… Go back inside and work on the mount, I’ll be back in a second,” said R.

Enjolras pursed his lips but agreed, and he walked over to his pole. He wrapped his hands around the base and bounced a bit on his toes before jumping up and wrapping his  
knees around it and pulling himself up so that he was hanging upside-down with feet and hands on pole and nothing else. Marius was extremely impressed.

“I’m sorry about him,” R apologised. “He’s kind of an activist and doesn’t like the injustice something he and many other people love, yada yada yada… I only started pole dancing because I thought it’d be funny and ironic. It’s actually really fun. Plus, I get to be with Apollo all day…”

Marius raised an eyebrow. “Apollo?”

“My nickname for him,” R explained.

Éponine smiled softly and took Marius’s arm again. “Well, you better get in there before the sun god burns your arse.”

Grantaire gave her a salute and a kiss on the cheek before running back inside his studio and jumping onto his pole.

“Are they a thing?’ Marius blurted, turning a dark red.

“No,” she sighed sadly. “But R wants it. He’s wild over Enjolras, and of course Orestes over there is completely oblivious to anything that isn’t dance or protests.”

“Poor guy…” he gasped. “Unrequited love must suck…”

“I think I can relate…” Éponine murmured. “Here, you can meet –”

“Cosette…”

 

Cosette was the epitome of beauty. She had gorgeous blond hair that she tied back and flung over her shoulder, and the way it framed her face made those pink lips and blue eyes pop out in the best way. And her smile sent goose bumps up Marius’s spine. She was bouncing around the room, practicing the Jitterbug with an invisible partner. With an unexplainable dose of courage, Marius sprinted inside and took her upheld hands, surprising the girl but not enough that she stopped dancing (only enough that she missed a beat). He spread his legs and let her slide through against the floor, then pulled her up and threw her up, catching her by the waist and expertly flipping her around his shoulders.  
The music stopped as they both pointed their toes back.

Panting, Marius choked out, “Hey… My name is Marius… Pontmercy…”

“And… mine’s Cosette,” she replied. “New guy?”

“That would be me,” he answered. “Dance partner?”

“You got it, love,” Cosette assured, finally letting go of his hands and fixing her hair. “So nice to meet you!”

“Likewise…”

Hot damn she was perfect. Marius didn’t know a thing about her and was already hooked. Was that shallow? Probably. He would definitely have to get to know her first to avoid looking shallow. It’s just… he knew that she had to be something close to perfection.

And the way she looked at him… it’s like they were thinking the same thing. Éponine threw up in her mouth a little. These two perfectly gorgeous human beings were probably going to roll in the hay and make perfect strawberry blond babies that grow up to be the first president in space or cure cancer with the help of a dinosaur. And they were going to be happy and perfect unlike Éponine who was obviously very imperfect and unhappy. Plus, she had already fallen in love with Marius. Then there was the fact that Cosette was her best friend in the entire world besides R, and she thought that she looked flat out adorable with Marius. Grand…

“So, are you going to be at that concert thing tonight?” Marius asked, completely oblivious to Éponine at the door.

Cosette nodded and rested her hand on his forearm. “You mean the rally?” she said sweetly. “Yes, I plan to go. Everyone’s going. All 150 students. Plus some of the students from the academy next door.”

“Javert Home of Achievers, right?”

“That’s what they call it, of course everyone here calls it Javert Home of Arseholes,” said Cosette crossly. “That’s what happened to my last partner. And Eponine’s last boyfriend.  
Montparnasse transferred before our last competition and we had to forfeit to Javert’s. Papa was so upset…”

“You’re head of dance and theatre’s daughter, am I right?” Marius asked.

“Yes…” Cosette grew upset. “He was my godfather before my mother died when I was eight.”

Marius frowned and mentally kicked himself. “I’m sorry I brought it up…”

“It’s fine,” she assured, squeezing his arm. “I should go, Marius, I have to finish my homework and Papa will take off three hours if I don’t get a B in ELA.”

“Bye, then…” Marius sighed. He was sure he’d screwed everything up.

“See you. Save me a dance.” Cosette grinned that stunning smile and leaned up, planting a kiss on his cheek that made his entire body mimic a freckled tomato. She then sashayed out of the room, hugging Éponine before leaving.

If anything was a fact, it was that Éponine and Marius were both pretty screwed.


	2. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius goes to the concert and learns Grantaire is more than a dancer. He's also a singer and the royal pain in Enjolras's arse. But... does Enjolras really mind? Also, rich boys being rich boys, Beatles songs, and Gavroche learning the meaning of "be careful what you wish for"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my cruddy way of showing what kind of relationship we've got with e/R
> 
> Also singing is bad in my opinion but I didn't have any other ideas

“GERONIMO!”

“ALONSY!”

“HEY, ASSBUTT!”

“Everything is TV references and everything hurts,” Marius gasped as he was dragged by the belt through a crowd of teenagers from ages 13 to 18.

“It gets like this,” Éponine laughed, squeezing her way through a very heated debate on how Sherlock had survived the fall. “Except it bugs me ever so slightly that Sherlock fans haven’t read the series?”

“Have you?” Marius asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

The girl shrugged and looked down. “Not exactly… No. But there’s a lot of books!”

“And there’s a lot of fans!” he said. “A fan’s a fan, just as long as they’re irrationally weeping over homoerotic subtext.”

His friend giggled dreamily and looked at him with admiration. “We better speed up before the crowd gets too thick…”

“Yeah,” Marius agreed. “Quick question… Explain this school again to me. I’m really confused.”

Éponine smiled sweetly. “Of course, my Pontmercy friend,” she said, still pulling him by his belt. “Well, this school has most of its students from eighth grade to twelfth. There are a few younger students, but not many. Gavroche is one of fifteen younger students. Azelma is, too, along with my other brothers. The rest of us are high school age.”

“Mhmm…”

“And to get in this school you need to have a GPA higher than 80%...”

“Which I did.”

“And no grade lower than 71.”

“Which I didn’t.”

“That way, the school can squeeze your academic classes in pairs, and you can focus on your career as a performer or whatever.”

Marius smiled and nodded in thanks. Éponine must have spotted the troupe, because she gave his belt a great jolt and his pants slipped halfway down his butt.

When they got over to the group… well, it was a bit of a sight. Gavroche was on Courfeyrac’s shoulders, playing with the older boy’s curls and retelling the story of how he caught a mouse the other day. Sebastian was cradled in Combeferre’s arms, and he had been waiting for Éponine so that she could take him home with Henri and Marzi, who were both about to drop in exhaustion. Combeferre himself was looking fine and dandy in a loose button up with thick, black frames hanging on his nose. Despite his previous cuddling, he was having an animated discussion with a very cross looking Enjolras. The pole dancer looked more like a god than ever, and Grantaire had surely noticed by the way he was drooling over his dear Apollo. R was nursing a hip flask. Feuilly and Jehan were wearing flower crowns and discussing poetry while Feuilly sculpted a fan for the skinnier ballerina. Marius saw them exchange light kisses on the shoulder or the ear and noted that they just may be a thing… or just weird artists. Bahorel and Lesgle looked pretty banged up, and Joly was trying to touch up there bruises all the while nervously complaining about their health habits to Musichetta. Cosette was talking with some girls from the Drama Department.

Marius shyly approached Joly and his partners. Musichetta grinned brightly and extended a hand. “You must be Marius!” she said happily. “So nice to meet you! I’m Musichetta, and these are my boyfriends, Joly and Lesgle.”

“Pleasure,” he replied, shaking her hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your dance…”

“Sure, what about?”

“Éponine has told me you do something called Lyrical?” he said, feeling like an idiot.

Musichetta giggled fondly. “Yeah, it’s called Lyrical. It’s sort of like ballet meets jazz.”

“And the knives?”

“We like to incorporate stories,” she explained.

“No longer feel like an idiot,” Marius laughed. “Thank you.”

“No problem!’ Musichetta said sweetly. Joly turned to her and held out his hands, which was an unspoken cue for her to squirt a drop of hand sanitizer on his palms. When Joly pressed his lips to hers, he took that as a cue to make himself scarce.

“You need to go home, Gav,” Courfeyrac said with a chuckle to the little boy. Éponine had already taken the other boys to their building, but left Gavroche, and the stubborn boy was refusing to leave Courfeyrac and the “big kids” to have all the fun without him.

“Why, Court? All the fun is ‘ere!” the little boy was whining.

“But it’s big kid fun,” the curly-haired teen reasoned. “And tomorrow we can have family friendly fun.”

“Everything is big kid fun!”

“I’ll carry you home, how’s about?’ said Courfeyrac.

Gavroche brightened up at this, but he was not about to give his teenage pal the satisfaction of a smile. He crossed his arms and looked up pretentiously. “I’ll make a bargain,” he said sharply.

Courfeyrac snorted, “A bargain?”

“Yeah, guv! A bargain!” Gavroche put his hands in his pockets and stared Courfeyrac dead in the eye. “You ‘ave to kiss ‘Ponine.”

Éponine, who had returned to the group just as Gavroche laid his cards on the table, looked mildly horrified. The other students laughed (spare Enjolras, who did not see the comedy and was a bit too impressed with the skill Gavroche seemed to possess for knowing what a bargain was), stopping only when Courfeyrac stood and signalled them to stop.

“May I kiss the fair lady?” he asked gallantly, bowing at Eponine’s feet.

“Call me fair lady one more time and I’ll snap your neck,” she spat back jokingly.

The curly-haired boy grunted and stood. “Fine. May I kiss the insufferable bitch?”

Éponine grinned and flicked the other boy. She spared a fleeting glance at Marius, then nodded at Court with a look of determination. “You may.”

Courfeyrac, breaker of hearts and zippers, grabbed his female counter by the waist and pulled her in, drumming his fingers along her hips before pressing his lips perfectly against hers. Eponine’s eyes were wide in shock as her friends – including Marius – stood by and laughed, hollered, and cat-called. The boy ended their kiss with a flavourful click of his tongue, then pressed a small peck to Eponine’s cheek.

“That what you wanted?” he asked, turning back to face Gavroche.

Bless him. The little boy seemed to have too late discovered the flaw in his plan and looked horrified. He shook his head, but leapt tiredly into Courf’s arms anyway. The Irish dancer laughed softly and began carrying the little tyke home, turning to wink at Éponine.

“Holy smokes, ‘Ponine!” Lesgle gasped, grabbing her arm. “Is he really as good a kisser as they say?”

“All that and more,” she gasped. “No wonder there’s a queue outside his bedroom door.”

She turned to face Marius.

“Think you could kiss better?” she inquired flirtatiously.

“Nope.”

Éponine raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… what?”

“I said nope. I’ve only kissed two girls: my mam and my great auntie.” Marius shared, taking a nonchalant sip from his soda.

Bahorel laughed loudly as Éponine stalked off, shot down, while Joly simply face-palmed at Marius’s obliviousness.

A band of students took to the stage on the side of the intersection. They were greeted by loud cheers. Marius had not noticed Grantaire leave, but there he was on stage, guitar in hand and the microphone probably smelling of beer. The drunken teen ran a hand through his hair that left the girls shrieking as he began to sing slowly, plucking the cords in such an eerie fashion. Marius instantly recognised the song from the Shrek soundtrack, however R’s rendition of it was a lot less joyful.

“ _Well I heard there was a secret cord / that David played and he pleased the Lord / but you don’t really care for music, do you?_ ”

Of all the students there, it seemed that Enjolras was mostly captivated  by this performance. And how could he not? Grantaire was singing beautiful words about people and love and David… Marius dared to believe he saw a grin plastered on the blonde’s face.

“ _Well it goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift / the baffled king composing Hallelujah…. Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah…_ ”

“Would you dance with me?”

Marius turned and came face to face with a bright-eyed Cosette. She extended her hands, cocking her head in question. “I won’t bite,” she giggled.

His head spinning, he took her hands and allowed the blonde girl to mould herself against his chest, her hands letting go of his fingers and travelling up his arms and shoulders to his neck. Marius placed his hands on her back and swayed softly to the slow singing of the curly-haired pole dancer up on stage.

“I’m sorry I acted the way I did earlier,” Cosette muttered in his ear. “I just don’t like talking about stuff like that. It’s not like you directly asked about my mother.”

“It’s fine,” Marius assured her. “I get the same way when people ask about my father.”

“Is he…?”

“Almost. Fading fast.”

“I’m sor – ”

“Don’t worry, Cosette. We’ve found common ground,” he whispered, cupping her cheek in his hand and letting her blonde braid beat against his fingers. “It’s fine.”

Their eyes locked for one heavenly minute. She leaned in slowly, and Marius’s heart, threatening to burst out of his chest. He thought for sure she was going to kiss him, but at the last minute she turned her head and pecked him on the cheek. The redhead boy exhaled slowly. He turned his head so Cosette could rest hers on his shoulder, and he caught the eye of Éponine, who looked devastated.

“ _… Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah… Hallelujah!_ ”

The crowds roared and glasses were raised, but no cheer outdid the bright smile and large ‘whoop’ that emitted from Enjolras’s throat. The activist’s fist hit the air and his watch glinted in the light of the thousands of torches and paper lanterns scattered around the stage.

Grantaire took the microphone in his hand. The crowd instantly hushed and all attention was on R.

“It’s a pleasure to play for you all,” he said with a smile playing at his lips. “And I know we’re all broke students, but we really need donations so we can release an album. It’s been a project of ours for a while, and we’re almost there. If any of you can spare a quarter or two, it makes a huge difference.”

People started cheering and opening up their pockets and purses, pulling out ones, fives, and tens. The drummer hopped up from where he was sitting and sat a jar at the foot of the stage. Enjolras managed to squeeze his way up to the front where he stared at the jar in front of him. Marius saw (which was a difficult thing) him open his wallet and pull what looked like check book. The blonde filled it out to hold 200. Not that Marius was surprised. Rich boys will be rich boys.

But then Grantaire looked at Enjolras, and the happy look on the other boy’s face made Enjolras so full of joy that he drew over the two with a three, stuffed the check into the jar then stalked away. R pressed his hand to his heart and tried to steady his breathing, but he turned to his band mates to mouth, “three hundred!” at them.

He took up the mic again and spoke with a choked voice, “We’re gonna sing a very special song. It’s the favourite song of someone I am… quite fond of…”

R pulled on his electric and began a rocking riff, causing the entire audience to begin cheering and whooping in praise. The drummer kicked in, then the bass, and soon a Beatles song was ringing out across campus.

“ _You say you want a revolution / well, you know, we all wanna change the world…_ ”

Enjolras’s face lit up and he began to sing along. Marius watched the way he and R never took their eyes off each other. It was taken a step further when the blonde had somehow migrated to the front of the stage again, and soon R’s hand was on his, pulling him up. This drove the crowd wild, especially the members of the troupe, who were practically jumping out of their skin.

“Sing!” Grantaire commanded, thrusting a mic at Enjolras. The blonde denied, but soon a slow chant of “Enjolras” began, and the pole dancer was gripping the microphone tightly in his hands.

“ _You say you got a real solution / well, you know, we’d all like to see the plan_ ,” Enjolras sang nervously, despite the fact that his voice was gorgeous.

R smiled and sang, “ _You ask me for a contribution / well, you know, we’re all doing what we can!_ ”

“ _But if you want money for people with minds that hate_ ,” they belted out together, “ _Then all I can tell you is brother you’ll have to wait! Don’t you know it’s gonna be –_ ”

“Everyone!”

“ _Alright!_ ”

“Beautiful!”

“ _Alright!_ ”

“ _Alright!_ ”

“ _Alright!_ ”

“ _Yeah!_ ”

Three hours later, Enjolras was bringing Grantaire tea for his sore throat, Jehan was braiding the girls’ hair, and Bossuet was waiting patiently for Joly to pick the splinter out of his thumb. Cosette had her body leaned against Marius’s, and she was entertaining herself by playing with the golden ring on his finger. Éponine watched jealously, but Courfeyrac soothed her by rubbing her back.

“You left out the final lines,” Enjolras mumbled to R as his dancing partner drank from the coffee cup. “The one about Mao Zedong and changing the constitution. It’s my favourite part.”

Grantaire spoke, and his voice was raspy, but he spoke, “I felt that wasn’t too relevant for an audience of high schoolers.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the blonde asked, looking taken aback.

“It means that it isn’t relevant anymore,” Grantaire explained lazily.

“The meaning is!”

“What meaning?”

“The meaning that ideas of power aren’t going to do anything to help the world!”

“Nope, I don’t think so.”

When Enjolras seemed to be at the brink of hitting boiling point, R’s band mates ran up excitedly. The bassist, a girl who kept her brown hair up in a braid, sat beside him and thrust the money jar into his hands. It was over flowing with bills and coins, but in the middle of the green and silver was a red check with Enjolras’s neat handwriting scrawled upon it. Grantaire reached inside and pulled it out, looking at his dance partner beside him.

“We can’t accept this,” he said, voice somehow both breaking and staying strong at the same time (like Spock in Into the Darkness).

R’s drummer, a skinny kid with a buzz cut, leaped forward in protest. “What do you mean? That check brings us to a four thousand dollars in all our savings!”

“He’s right, Grantaire. I made it out to you,” Enjolras said.

“Why?”

“Why what?” he growled, becoming aggravated. “It’s a favour. Take the check!”

“Why would you write out this big a check?” Grantaire asked. “Why not just slip a twenty in?”

“Because three hundred is more,” Enjolras hissed. “Your band works hard and deserves this. It’s not all about you, R! Make your damn album!”

Grumbling, Grantaire angrily stuffed the check back in the jar and threw it into the bassist’s hands. He grabbed his guitar case and stomped over to his motorcycle, Enjolras following slowly. Marius watched nervously as Enjolras grabbed the handle bar to stop the other boy. The other members of the troupe, plus R’s band, plugged their ears or tried to busy themselves with other things as the arguing teens’ voices got higher and higher.

It had to be and hour before the angry screech of tire against asphalt beat against their eardrums and the blonde dancer had stormed back over to their circle.

“Give me the key,” he demanded from Combeferre, who threw his arms up in defence.

“I haven’t got it, man,” he muttered. “Where’s yours?”

“Courfeyrac borrowed it,” Enjolras snapped. “Where’s yours?”

“In my binder back home,” Combeferre said.

“Who has one?” the blonde yelled, eyeing everyone as if they were pigs and he was deciding which one he would slaughter first.

Marius shyly lifted his hand. He would be the fifth boy in their house and had received his key two days ago in the mail. Joly gulped and cowered into Musichetta’s arms as the fuming pole dancer made his way up to the redhead and exposed his palm impatiently.

“I’ll go with you,” whispered Marius.

“You’ll do what?” he asked.

“I’ll go with you. I’m getting tired.”

Enjolras allowed himself to look the slightest bit confused as Marius bid his new friends goodbye and began to walk down the pavement towards their lodgings. The blonde picked up on what was happening and wordlessly followed. The two boys walked in silence for what felt like an eternity, only really interacting when Enjolras pushed Marius in the proper direction.

Although, Enjolras’s aggravated mutterings turned into clear words, “I hate him so much.”

“Grantaire,” Marius stated without thinking.

“Yeah,” the other breathed. “Yeah, him.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t care.”

“About you?”

“About anything!”

“He seems to care about his band…”

“Didn’t you see what he pulled back there? Since they formed their little group they’ve been saving up salaries and allowance to make an album. I gave a generous amount and he gets angry every time.”

“Every time?”

“Any time I give a bit over fifty to his band he gets angry. I have money to give and I give it.”

“You do give a lot, though. A bit more than a charity.”

“I’m giving so he gets somewh – ”

Enjolras’s breathed hitched and his eyes locked on something in the distance. Marius followed his gaze and began blushing generously. There, in the light of a street lamp, was Grantaire. He was leaning idly against his bike with his arms snaked around some girl’s waist. With each kiss the couple made, Enjolras seemed to become even more angry. It seemed to become too much for the blonde when R picked the girl up and carried her into his house. Breathing heavy, Enjolras ran up to their home besides R’s.  Marius caught and forked over the key as quickly as he could because Enjolras looked like he would rip off an arm.

They opened the door and Enjolras stormed off in to his room, leaving the key in the hole. Marius stepped inside and took back his key. The house was nice looking and definitely lived in. There was a small kitchen, a living area, a bathroom, then two bedrooms. He stepped inside the one opposite the one Enjolras had gone into and saw his things beside the single bed shoved awkwardly in the corner. He sat down and let his mind clear. Marius wasn’t adjusting to any of this, but god knows he needed to hurry that process up.


	3. The Javert Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Javert kids swoop in and Enjolras is a precious baby?? Sorry this took so long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I've been in college so...

The days went by slowly after the concert. Enjolras and Grantaire made up… in a way. There was a horrid argument which ended with Enjolras angrily screaming, “The only upside was knowing you were finally doing _something_ on your kitchen table – even if it wasn’t your homework!” and everyone having to excuse themselves because they probably wouldn’t be able to hold in their laughter much longer.

Then, Combeferre and Éponine were acting way closer. Soon, it seemed like the little Thénardier boys were playing parent trap on their older friends. The boys’ efforts were every type of hilarious. They did everything from setting nightlights between them when they had lunch together to closing doors on them. Although, it seemed that Eponine was denying Ferre’s advances for someone else… According to Grantaire, the only person she had confided in, he wasn’t going to tell a soul, which made curious Bahorel so angry he had to up and leave.

And then there was Lesgle and Joly, who looked absolutely horrible as of late. Musichetta inquired them as to why they appeared to not have slept in a week, and both boys turned to glare and Grantaire and Courfeyrac. Apparently, they were used to Courfeyrac’s almost nightly sexual adventures, but when Grantaire was beginning to add health to his own habit, they detailed that it seemed there were contests between the two to see who could create the most noise. Upon learning these facts, Marius blushed crimson, Cosette became pink, Eponine became very distant, and Enjolras was red-faced and steaming from the ears.

But today was the beginning of Marius’s second week at the school. Today marked the second Monday as a member of the troupe. Today was the first Monday that Marius enjoyed since he was a little boy. It was like any other day, and at the same time it wasn’t. He woke up at eight am, brushed his teeth besides Bahorel, debated with Enjolras while making his Lucky Charms, read the paper over Combeferre’s shoulder, then walked to World Lessons with Jehan.

After his four lessons and lunch, he, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac all walked together to the dance studio. They were discussing when the weather would chill enough for them to be able to play sports on the field without swimming in their own sweat. Feuilly, who took join in making fans for hobby, laughed at the question as he waved one of his creations in the air to keep himself cool. Marius was green with envy just because the ballerina had a flowery paper fan in his hands, but he was already exhausted and he hadn’t even began dancing yet. Plus, he looked disgusting when he sweated. As did most people.

Except his Cosette. He’d taken that as a habit, calling her ‘his’. It felt oddly right. Okay, it didn’t. It made him feel like a jerk, but he wanted to be… you know… seeing her? He’d never had a girlfriend before. Cosette made his head swim and eyes flutter. Ever since they started dancing together, he began messing up moves and tripping over his feet like a klutz. Although, he didn’t really know if they were accidents anymore or just his subconscious wanting Cosette to lead him through the steps again or wrap a bandage around a twisted ankle.

“There he is! How’s your knee?”

Cosette… Her arms were around her and her face platonically nuzzled in his ear.

“F-F-Fine…” he squeaked, blood rising all over his body until he looked like a freckled tomato. Courfeyrac wolf whistled and trotted off into his studio, pulling ghillies over his tights as he went.

“Is it still swollen?” Cosette asked, getting down on her knees and making Marius turn rigid for a second. Her fingers pressed against the brace. “Doesn’t feel swollen…”

She was up again and sashaying towards their studio, light on her feet and giggling happily. Her braid beat against her back and Marius lusted over the idea of pulling out the strands so he could run his hands through it. He yearned to tell her just how amazing she was. How she was an amazing cook, dancer, comic, actress, singer, artist… The words wanted to come out, but they wouldn’t. Only a week of knowing her and he was head over heels.

And only a few steps and he was walking into Eponine.

Eponine.

Eponine looked at him like he was a golden ray of sunshine on a rainy day, a cupcake in a batch of muffins, a fluffy fan fic among the angst, the last strip of bacon… She gazed at him with wide eyes and a goofy smile. Every chance she got, she made time for him. Whenever Courfeyrac brought up the subject of his latest dish, she immediately questioned his experience in the field. Marius smiled, knowing how good a friend she is. And to think about all the hints she drops about him to Cosette. What a wonderful wingman.

“Hey, Marius…” she murmured, blushing.

“Hi, ‘Ponine,” he replied. “Did you talk to Cosette?”

She frowned. “Yes…”

“Thanks! You’re a real pal!”

Before the girl could speak another word, he was up and running into the studio, leaving Eponine. But, he lost his shoe in the hall.

“Cosette,” he called out to her, “I lost my shoe. Let me grab it.”

He walked back into the hall to retrieve his shoe, but it was no Cinderella scene that met him. His heart shattered as he saw Eponine cradled in Grantaire’s arm. The pole dancer was rubbing her back and speaking soft words to her as she cried into his shoulder. Marius’s brain screamed out for him to rush to her side, but instead he cowered behind the corner and watched. Watched and listened.

“I know, sweetheart,” R cooed, stringing her hair between his fingers. “I know it hurts. Trust me, I know most of all…”

“I don’t even know how I got myself into this situation!” Eponine sobbed, letting the boy kiss her cheek and hold her tightly.

“Me either,” said R. “When I first met… No, this is about you. Let it out.”

“It’s like he doesn’t even notice!”

Just then, Marius noticed something on the other side of the hall. A something that looked like two cunning eyes and a head of curly hair. A something that was actually a someone named Courfeyrac. And that someone was glaring at Marius. Not even kidding – Courfeyrac was glaring like Marius had killed his first born son, but he was just confused beyond belief.

Eponine dried her tears and Grantaire helped her up, holding her for a few more seconds. Courfeyrac mouthed… vacuum (author’s note: stand in front of a mirror and mouth vacuum)? Marius grabbed his shoe and ran for his studio, slamming into Cosette and landing on top of her, straddling her waist.

It was just then that her father, the dance instructor Jean Valjean, decided to walk in with Professor Javert and his favourite students. Really. Just his luck.

Valjean cleared his throat while the students “oohed” behind him and Javert smirked. “Cosette,” Jean said, crossing his arms, “exactly what is happening here?”

His brain didn’t want to work. He just rolled off of Cosette and sat on the floor beside her. She, on the other hand, had a much better grasp on the situation. She straightened her tights and stood up, walking over to her father and kissing him on the cheek.

“Oh, Papa,” she said softly, putting her arms affectionately around his neck. “Marius just tripped and fell.”

Valjean looked at Marius, then at his daughter, and seemed to believe what she had to say. “I wouldn’t have been upset if something did happen, dear,” he told her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re a smart girl. But you’re also and honest girl, and if you say nothing happened. Nothing happened.”

“Wow, Valjean,” scoffed Javert. “If we used your tactics then the world would be an ugly place.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Imagine someone robbed a bank, but they say they didn’t do it. ‘Oh, but they’re an honest person!’ Should we just let them off the hook?” the other man snarled.

Valjean softly pushed Cosette away, and she fell into Marius’s (who was now standing) arms. He held her protectively, and Javert’s students’ wiggled their eyebrows.

“See here, Javert – ”

“Valjean, let’s go to your office. This is an adult conversation.”

Jean huffed and nodded farewell to his daughter. He shoved the studio door open and stormed through the halls, his feet making such a racket that the rest of the troupe left their studios to see what was up. Soon, the entire building (spare Javert and Valjean) was inside the ballroom studio. Courfeyrac was still glaring at Marius and Eponine’s face was tear stained. Bahorel was fuming.

“Hey!” he barked, stepping toward the Javert students. “Montparnasse! What you doin’ here?”

Montparnasse made a whistling noise and nodded his head towards a scruffy looking Hulk. The teen growled in response. “Gueulemer! Take care of the brute!” he ordered.

Gueulemer stepped forward and threw a punch at Bahorel, who grabbed his fist before it met his throat and twisted the arm back. The Javert boy squealed and looked Montparnasse dead in the eye as he fell to the ground with his shoulder popping out and his wrist square between his blades. Montparnasse was emotionless.

“Bloody hell…” Gueulemer gasped, struggling to put his arm back to normal.

“Shut up,” said Bahorel. “Montparnasse, what are you doing here?”

The teen grinned a toothy smile and walked toward Cosette. She cowered a bit into Marius’s arms, but also looked at her adversary square. He reached out, grabbing her round the waist and pulling her flush against him. “I was feeling home sick!” he guffawed, laying a sloppy kiss on Cosette.

She screamed and slapped him across the face. Eponine and Bahorel pulled him down, Combeferre and Courfeyrac pressing their feet against his wrists to keep him down. All hell broke loose, and soon Marius was throwing punches. Cosette turned into some sort of badass and beat the living crap out of Babet when he tried to strangle Feuilly. Jehan also beat some arse with some trained kicks to stop Courfeyrac from getting his lights punched out.

“STOP!”

The Javert boys, obviously defeated, stalled their attacks and returned to Montparnasse’s side like trained dogs. He looked down on him in disgust. “Listen, we were coming over to make sure you guys are going to come to the Javert Dancer’s Back to School party at the lake tomorrow night. You in?”

“Why would we want to go?” inquired Enjolras.

“Because it’ll be fun,” said Claquesous. “Booze, babes, and bikinis. Although, pretty boy, I wasn’t sure you would find babes or bikinis satisfying.”

“What you are implying is not an insult,” Enjolras said.

“Whatever, princess.”

Grantaire’s eyes flared and he surged forward. Combeferre and Jehan grabbed him around the hips and held the angry teen back.

“A bit defensive there!” Montparnasse cackled. “I think you’ll especially appreciate this Adonis in a bathing suit, huh? Just make sure you show up!”

Grantaire was practically growling, and Enjolras was blushing fire truck red. Thankfully, before anything else could happen, Valjean and Javert entered the room.

“Valjean! Valjean!” gasped Eponine, running over to their teacher. “Montparnasse got… he… to Cosette…”

“He kissed Cosette,” said Feuilly, taking the blonde girl’s hand. Marius tightened his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. Platonically, of course. Friendship. Yay.

Jean Valjean was livid. He charged on Montparnasse and grabbed him by the arm. “You will be facing horrible punishment for what you’ve done,” he hissed.

“Now hold on, Jean,” said Javert calmly, taking Montparnasse’s arm from the other man. “Shouldn’t we hear Monty’s part of the story?”

“Fine… If you confess your punishment will be less severe,” Valjean said.

Montparnasse smirked and looked at the troupe with shady eyes. “I didn’t do any such thing,” he fibbed, crossing his fingers behind his back.

“Alright, kid,” snarled Valjean. “Let’s go to my office.”

Javert held up a hand to stop him. “No, no, no, Valjean! Monty is an honest boy. If he says nothing happened then nothing happened.”

“Javert…”

“Come along, boys! See you all at the party tomorrow! Valjean, be a gentleman and see us out!”

Grumbling, Valjean led them out. Marius hoped he would bring Montparnasse to justice. The freckled teen was experiencing white, hot rage. If he could, he would’ve killed Montparnasse for what he did. Or, he would’ve let Cosette have at him and held down his arms for her while she punched bruises all over his body. Make him pay through the nose for every person he’d hurt or violated like Cosette. Darling Cosette who was so brave and strong when protecting her friends, and even so after having her old partner invade her in such a horrid way. She was brave and strong. It was another thing to add to the ever growing list of reasons he was already in love with her.

Eponine took Cosette off his hands and the two of them went to go get ice cream with Courfeyrac. They had asked if Marius wanted to come, but he needed to blow off steam, and declined. Also, Courfeyrac’s glaring was really getting to him. Although when he declined their invitation Courfeyrac clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

He felt exhausted.

“I don’t have to go, do I?”

The voice belonged to Musichetta. She was wrapped up in Lesgle’s arms, and Joly was cupping her face in his hands, brushing her hair back and away from her face. Musichetta looked horrified, and her boys were trying desperately to calm her down.

“Hush, sweetie,” Joly cooed, pressing his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I can’t… I don’t know how…”

“It’s alright, my darling,” he said, kissing her softly.

Lesgle reached out and tangled his hand in Joly’s bangs, rubbing his thumbs off the shaved side of his head. He pressed a kiss to Musichetta’s temple and rocked her in a calming way. “How about we all go back to your place, ‘Chetta, and make some noodles and hot chocolate…”

“Bossuet, that’s disgusting,” Joly wretched.

“You eat it every time,” Musichetta giggled.

“Because you won’t feed me anything else,” he replied sourly.

Marius smiled as Lesgle took Musichetta’s hand and went with her to their golf cart outside. Joly was packing up their things when Marius walked over. He watched Joly for a second, observing.

“Is she alright?” he asked, looking at the other boy.

Joly looked up and smiled. “She’s fine,” he said. “Poor ‘Chetta. My darling. Her sister drowned when ‘Chetta was five. After that she refused to learn how to swim or go near pools, lakes, oceans… They terrify her greatly.”

“She’ll have to deal, Joly,” Enjolras said as he walked up. “We all need to show up. Trust me, we would be saving her from later ridicule.”

Joly’s jaw dropped to the equator. “I could never make my sweet do that!” he gasped. “And don’t ask Bossuet.”

“Joly, we have to show up,” the blonde said, aggravated still.

“I couldn’t,” Joly said.

“Well I will.”

Joly was growing cross. “You can’t. It makes no sense.”

“If Musichetta does not appear, then Montparnasse will use it as an excuse to come over. I never said she had to swim or anything. Just be there.”

Enjolras left without another word, Grantaire following like a pup. Feuilly and Jehan were touching the bruises on each other softly and exchanging kisses. Marius deduced they were a couple. An artsy couple.

“Are you a poly thing?” he asked Joly, hoping it wasn’t too personal.

Joly grinned and zipped up his kitsack. “In a way. Lesgle is my best friend. Musichetta is my girlfriend, and his girlfriend. We share her.”

“Do you ever argue about that?” he questioned, not believing it entirely.

“Not at all. I love them both with all my heart.”

“That’s so cute!”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“One more question…” Marius mumbled.

“What is that?” said Joly, starting to head out the door.

“Is noodles and hot chocolate as bad as it sounds?” he asked, laughing.

Joly chuckled and nodded. “Yes. It is. But it’s all Bossuet can make and I get a little too… occupied… to take to the kitchen myself.”

Marius laughed and leaned against the door. “Alright, man. Say bye to them for me.”

“Will do. See ya.”

“Bye.”

Joly left and hopped on his golf cart, getting a kiss from his two partners. They looked content and happy, arms looped together as Joly drove away. Soon, Feuilly and Jehan were leaving as well. The two artists were hand-in-hand, their fingers twisted about with flowers stuck between their curls. Feuilly kissed Jehan’s short hair, biting his headband playfully. The poet laughed and nuzzled into the fan-maker’s beard. The door closed behind them and Marius felt envious. He also felt tired, and decided it was about time he left.

Marius began walking down the halls. He passed each empty studio with a bit of a sad expression. Today had started so well. He had planned to start building a routine with Cosette… start flirting… maybe go out with her for a coffee. But no. Those Javert kids really were arses.

He then passed a studio that wasn’t empty. The door was wide open to let in air, so every single word was heard. It was the pole dancing studio. Five poles were in the room, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. Beneath them were mats, and each mat was decorated for whoever used that pole. One pole was used by a girl who wasn’t in the troupe and she’d decorated it with flowers. The other two were plain. Enjolras’s mat was black with his name in red and paint splatters in blue and white. Grantaire’s, however, was a personal painting of Pylades and Orestes.

Grantaire was leaning against the mirrors, playing on his phone and talking to Enjolras, who was tiredly flipping about his pole.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” R said.

“I need to perfect this!” Enjolras panted, spinning upside down.

“So do I, but after what happened with Javert’s kids we both need a rest,” Grantaire replied. The cynic turned off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. “Come on. Get down.”

“No! R, if you were smart you’d be up here, too!”

“If you were smart you’d be down here.”

Enjolras made an exasperated groan as he began to do a very difficult move. Grantaire wasn’t watching. “I’ll be fi – OW!”

Enjolras had fallen. He had fallen and landed on his arm. There was a loud snap that made both Grantaire and Marius wince. But Enjolras looked like… well… he looked like he was refusing to feel pain. His eyes were scrunched up and he was biting his lip while he cradled his broken wrist in his hand. Grantaire gasped and ran over, sitting on his knees in front of him.

“Oh, no,” he gasped, picking up Enjolras’s chin with hesitant fingers.

Enjolras hissed and turned away, blood starting to soak into the saliva covering the teeth biting his lower lip. His wrist was bent out of shape and bruising already. Grantaire grabbed his shoulders and positioned him with his back against his pole and feet out straight.

“It hurts, I know,” he murmured, rubbing the other’s neck softly. “Do you… wanna cry?”

The blond boy shook his head and turned his face down. A tear must’ve slipped or something, because he attempted to wipe his face on his shoulder. R frowned and brought the other’s face back up to meet his. The curly-haired dancer smiled softly and began rubbing Enjolras’s neck soothingly.

“Hey…” he whispered, smiling. “It’s okay… It’s alright. It’s just me… It’s just me… Do you want to cry?”

Enjolras nodded furiously. He hiccupped out a sob and tears began to stream down his face. It was very strange for Marius to see such a strong being reduce to body-shaking sobs. Not like it was his fault. His injury looked painful, and R had taken notice. Marius watched him leave the other for a split second to retrieve his shirt and wrap it around Enjolras’s shoulder like a sling.

“Calm down, Apollo,” he mumbled, helping the crying man off his feet. “We’re gonna hop on my bike and take you down to the infirmary.”

Enjolras nodded and let Grantaire dry his tears then embrace him softly. Still sniffing a bit, the blond rested his head on R’s shoulder and allowed himself to be led out of the studio. Marius saw Grantaire help the other onto his bike, then carefully wrapped his arms around his middle and drove down the street. Marius’s stomach got that warm, fuzzy feeling, and he smiled.


	4. Drowning in Feelings and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius finally kisses a girl, Cosette loses her top, and we almost loose Musichetta...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //it is finally here

It was half eleven at night when Marius’s phone began to buzz uncontrollably on his nightstand. The freckled teen grabbed the cellular device mainly so it would stop rattling the wooden nightstand and shaking the contents of the drawers, because Bahorel had just woken up and was glaring daggers, and it made Marius very uncomfortable.

He answered the phone, “Hey?”

Bahorel shot him another look, and Marius bolted out of the room. He had missed what the person on the other line had said, so he panted, “Come again?” into the receiver.

“Marius, what the heck?” came a raspy voice from the other end of the call.

“Grantaire?” Marius asked, adding the number to his contacts. “What’s up?”

“Are you awake?”

“I’m skydiving.”

“Right, stupid question,” R mumbled. “Look, I need you to do me a favour.”

“At half eleven?”

“Yeah. Dude, just bear with me.”

Marius sighed and leaned against the wall. “What?”

Grantaire inhaled sharply before launching into a spiel, “So Enjolras fell today and broke his wrist and I took him to the hospital. The thing is that it actually isn’t just broken, and he needs to have surgery like, now or else he will have some problems.”

“Oh…” Marius started walking towards Enjolras’s room, already knowing where this conversation was going. “So what is wrong?”

“Hell if I know, do I have a Ph.D.?”

Marius rolled his eyes and stalked quietly into Enjolras’s room, taking care not to bother Combeferre. “So do you want me to pack him a bag and bring it over?”

“Exactly,” Grantaire answered. “I’m staying with him, but just get him some clothes and books…”

“Will do.”

Marius got to the hospital in the quickest amount of time one could by taking a late night Marta. The lady at the front desk happily slapped a sticker on his chest and lead him down the hall. Marius didn’t know what he expected. Someone like Enjolras wasn’t so easily phased. Sure, he’d seen the guy cry his eyes out earlier, but he must’ve been in a lot of pain. After having medical attention, however, and a sterile environment to calm his nerves in, a strong person wasn’t to be found crying. Right? Surgery was a scary thing, especially in a situation like this where he was barely given a few minutes to prepare himself mentally. But, come on, why would he be crying? Enjolras was way too strong to…

Cry…

“What i-i-if it isn’t fine?” wailed Enjolras into Grantaire’s chest, the blond latching onto him like a sloth to a tree. “Wh-What if something h-h-ha-ha-happens?”

“Shhh,” R soothed the other, rubbing his hands over his shoulders and through his hair. “Calm down, Enjolras… It’s going to be fine… You’re going to be fine… Everything will be fine…”

“P-Promise?” Enjolras whimpered, crinkling R’s shirt.

“I do,” Grantaire murmured, resting Enjolras’s head against his chest.

“H-How can you know?” Enjolras asked, using R’s sleeve to wipe his eyes.

“Because I believe in you… You’re a strong person.”

“You do?” Enjolras questioned. His eyes were glossy and bright from the tears (actually they were always bright, but that’s because Enjolras is fecking perfect). “You think that?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered. “I do.”

Hiding behind the doorway, Marius dared to nudge his head in the room and sneak a peek at his two class mates. It was a regular hospital room, with a bed and chairs. One was positioned by the bed, but no one sat in it. On the floor were tiny chess pieces, and the board was hanging lopsided off the mattress. Grantaire’s left leg was dangling oddly and he was barely seated. It seemed as if Enjolras had yanked the dark-haired boy into his bed during a calming game of chess.

Enjolras sat up a bit, his free hand rubbing circles on the bridge of his nose. “Thank you so much for staying with me,” he muttered. “If there is… _anything_ … that I can do… just tell me.”

Grantaire sounded as if he were about to say no, he needn’t worry, but then the singer choked on his words. He let his tongue run over his lip as he thought, and Marius locked eyes with him. R looked at Marius out of the corner of his eye and raised his eyebrows in question. Marius, not seeing this, but nodding to shoo the fly on his nose, sparked something in Grantaire.

“Actually…” said Grantaire, “Enjolras, will you go on… on a date… like, on a date with… me?”

Whoa.

Marius was not expecting that.

Maybe, like, ‘do my homework for a week’ or something, but not date.

I mean, well damn.

“A date?” Enjolras parroted.

“Yeah,” said R nervously. “A date.”

“Well, R…”

“I mean, I know you like men. Not, like, like men. Not what I meant,” Grantaire groaned. “Yes what I meant, actually. I mean… you… boys…”

“Yes, I do,” Enjolras said, relishing in the power he received from the sudden hitching in the other boy’s breath.

“I know you do,” said R. “You told me yourself on January 4th, 2008, 4:15 in the afternoon outside of a Five Guys, after you told me that you screamed at the cashier while I was in the bathroom because you saw him spit in my drink. When I asked why, you said it was because I was wearing a bi-pride shirt. Then you took my shoulder and said, ‘People like him are scum. I’m not just saying that because I’m gay, but because straight or not I would frown upon people who act like him. Even if I myself thought that homosexuality was wrong, I would still be disgusted at his poor treatment of other humans.’ Though I said it was no big deal, and I was used to it, you bought me a Starbucks. That was a huge thing, too. You fecking hate Starbucks.”

Enjolras smiled a bit and let himself sit up straight beside him, wiping off the tears that stained his cheeks. “You remember that day as well as I do,” he said. “It was the first time you and I got along well enough for more than two hours.”

“You know the only reason we fight is because…”

“… I need a challenge.”

Grantaire blushed and scooted over so he was sitting in a proper platonic way. “Combeferre says that all the time to me.”

“Same here,” chuckled the blond. “Okay, so back to this date.”

“You don’t have to go!”

“No, I want to!”

“You do?”

“Yes! I mean… yes.”

“Oh… well…”

“I mean, we’re not too compatible but one date won’t hurt me.”

“Right…” It was obvious the last statement phased R a bit, because he began looking for a diversion. “Look! It’s Marius!”

Marius took this as his chance to make his presence known. He stepped forward into the room and dropped the bag on a chair. Enjolras looked at the bag and began to choke up again, remembering that Marius had brought the bag because he _was getting surgery_. Grantaire saw and grabbed his shoulder protectively, rubbing calming circles with his thumb.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but what about dance?” asked Marius, oblivious to his words.

Enjolras gasped and grabbed at his chest. “Oh, my god! I forgot all about dance! How long will I be out?”

“Only two months,” said R, positioning on the bed so that he was properly sitting on it again (he had begun to slip). “It’ll be fine.”

“No practice for two months? I’ll be two left feet by the time I get back!” he wailed, falling back on his pillow in anguish.

“Well, more like two left hands,” Marius interjected. “Because, like, you’re a pole dancer…”

“You shut your mouth!” R snapped, pointing a finger at Marius who threw his hands up in defence.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Enjolras whimpered. “Look, we really need to strategize.”

“What for?” asked Marius.

Enjolras looked at him like he was an idiot – which he was, in a sense – and went off on a spiel: “For the pool party tomorrow! We’ll be mingling with the Javert troupe, and god knows that that could lead to people getting hurt. Last time we were in the same vicinity of the Javert students, Feuilly got a black eye. The protection of my troupe is the most important thing to me.”

Grantaire looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Except for yourself.”

Enjolras looked back at him in confusion, asking, “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

“Enjolras!” Grantaire scoffed, taking a sip from the water bottle he’d brought with him (which did not smell like water). “You never eat or sleep! You work yourself to the bone!”

“At least I work!”

“Do not start that argument again!” Grantaire shouted.

“Guys!’ Marius hollered, pulling them both back in. “Keep it down!”

Enjolras nodded and sat back up. He gave R a side glance, and the dark-haired boy dismounted the bed and sat back in his chair, all in one graceful slide. The blond used his good arm to completely clear his face, then looked at his watch.

“I have about ten minutes til they wheel me in,” he announced, voice cracking. “I’ll be let go for the party Friday evening.”

“You can’t swim,” Marius pointed out.

“That’s a given,” agreed R, taking another gulp from his water bottle.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked at them both before continuing, “We need to stay out of trouble. But, if Javert are to do something that we can use against them, prepare your cameras. Marius, I require of you to make sure the entire troupe has ample storage space on all devices.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“At ease,” the blond joked, falling back onto his pillow. Suddenly, nurses began coming in, pulling a moving bed with them. Enjolras shivered, but choked back his worried tears. He groped around for something, and literally dove for R’s hand once he felt that he was being moved. R followed him out of the room and allowed the blond boy to squeeze his hand black and blue. The nurse told them they’d have to separate, and Enjolras looked absolutely miserable about leaving R behind.

“You’ll be fine!” Grantaire shouted after him. “I believe in you!”

**_Le Lake Party_ **

“Marius! Poor thing! Let me put some more sunblock on your face!”

Marius grinned softly and allowed Cosette to start rubbing the SPF 30 on his nose. It was nice to feel her soft fingers on his skin. Even if it was just sunblock. She rubbed the cream over his cheekbones and his ears, then wove her hands into his hair to make sure his scalp wasn’t in danger of being burnt by the autumn sun. Eyes met and cheeks blushed. Cosette’s fingers slowed and simply began to weave through Marius’s auburn hair.

“So is it true what Éponine said?” she asked.

Marius’s eyebrows lifted smoothly in confusion. “What about?”

“About Enjolras and Grantaire!” the blonde squealed. “Is it true R asked Enjolras to go on a date with him?”

“Oh, that! Yeah, it’s true,” he said. “Grantaire drives him back to the hospital after the party. They go on their date when Enjolras is dismissed.”

Giggling, Cosette nodded her head to the left. Marius turned his head (which, unfortunately, meant that he no longer had her fingers in his hair) to see Enjolras and Grantaire sharing a platform. The deck boat they had used for the party was littered with two foot high platforms that everyone had set blankets, radios, and even fans on. Since Enjolras still couldn’t swim, R had sat by him all day. They’d argued a bit every now and again and R drank a little from his “water” bottle, but now the pair were relaxing together. Grantaire was spread out on their shared blanket, and Enjolras was laying on his side behind him. A book Enjolras had obviously been reading was discarded, and instead the blond was entertaining himself with running long fingers over the scars and bruises on Grantaire’s body. Some looked like they could’ve come from simple mistakes, while others appeared to be the souvenir of some horrid motorcycle accident. Still, some looked like fist fight marks and a hickey was placed, in all its glory, on his right shoulder.

Marius turned back to Cosette and shrugged. “R’s pretty beat up,” he said nonchalantly.

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Cosette groaned. “You have a 149 IQ, Marius, how are you so naïve?”

“I’m just not very perceptive?” Marius guessed.

Cosette laughed and began to apply sunblock to his back and shoulders. Her thumbs dug into the knots in his muscles, making the teenager feel a new type of ecstasy. His cheeks turned red, and he couldn’t help letting a happy moan escape his lips when Cosette ground her palm into his tense muscles.

“You’re so tense,” murmured the blonde innocently. She brought her hands down his sides, massaging his stomach.

“Cosette, I…”

“We really should do this more often,” she said. Her hands were on his thighs now and rubbing large circles with her thumbs. “All that dancing has done a horrid job on your thighs.”

Marius turned around and looked at her, smiling shyly. Cosette returned the grin. Her lashed beat softly against her cheeks, and Marius got a chance to feel them as her face became increasingly closer to his. Then her lips were on his and everything he’d been fantasizing about since he met her came true.

It was a soft, chaste kiss at first. Or as chaste as you can be with a girl’s hands not-so-innocently placed on your upper thighs. Since it was Marius’s first kiss he was rather nervous and hadn’t the nerve to take a step further and deepen it. Besides, he was content with just pressing against her. They both smiled and knocked teeth, which made them laugh. And when they laughed Cosette took the opportunity to bite the boy’s lip. Marius sighed happily and wrapped his arm around her back, suddenly feeling bad that she was wearing a bikini and his wrist was pressed dangerously against the knot keeping it on her. Teeth against teeth, tongue against tongue… the dancers were making half a scene on Cosette’s platform. Cosette tasted like pink lemonade and funnel cake. Marius let the idea of eating nothing but those two things for the rest of his life because he never knew they would taste so good together.

But then she shrieked…?

Marius pulled away from her in one swift move and saw a triangle shaped item land on his knee… Triangle shaped…

He looked up and turned a shade worse than his hair. Sure, Cosette had covered them, but he’d seen enough to lock a vivid image in his mind. It was like snapchat. Marius slapped his hand over his eyes and all but threw her top back at her. Cosette simply hissed, then yanked the blanket out from under Marius, sending him toppling over the platform.

“Way to go, Marius!” Courfeyrac laughed, catcalling and whooping with the other students.

“Geez, how many times have I seen your boobs now, Cosette?” Éponine asked jokingly.

“Shut up, all of you!” Cosette giggled, trying desperately to look angry. “It isn’t funny.”

She was now covered in a towel, so Marius deemed it proper time to get his arse off the deck. The redhead frowned as he stood. “Cosette,” he breathed, guilt weighing down his voice, “I am so sorry. Believe me, I had no intention of doing that. My wrist just dragged across it.”

“I understand,” she replied. “It’s not like you meant to…”

“Yo! Cosette!” Montparnasse hollered, swaggering over deviously. “Nice rack!”

“Montparnasse!” Les Amis gasped.

“Leave me be!” Cosette demanded, swatting at the other boy.

“I just want to appreciate what once was mine!” He laughed maniacally and reached out his hands.

Filling to the rim with rage, Marius grabbed his arm and flipped it back. The other boy howled in pain and fell to the ground. He glared up at Marius, but didn’t say a word. Instead, he stood and walked across the deck. Everyone relaxed, as it seemed he’d calmed down, but they could not have been more wrong.

After a few minutes of tense silence, another girl’s scream beat against their ear drum. They all looked about for the source, but all they could see was Montparnasse standing by the edge of the deck, laughing evilly. Question arose, and no one knew what to do. Joly began looking for Musichetta, who typically knew all and told all, but he could not see her. In fact, no one knew where Musichetta was.

It seemed to dawn on Joly first. His face grew pale, his hands clammy, his muscles rigid, and eyes wide. The glass in his hand hit the ground and shattered before all of them. He was having a panic attack, it seemed, but it also appeared that for once he wasn’t going to let that stop him. No, Joly threw off his shirt and ran for the edge of the deck. Joly stopped at the edge, looking into the water. Suddenly, a hand reached up, followed by a head, and a bubbly version of his name was heard. “Joly! JOLY!”

“’Chetta!” Laigle shrieked, racing over to the water as well. Joly dove into the water and appeared two seconds later. He twisted and turned, looking about, but the hand and head never arose again. The hypochondriac dove once more and everyone held their breath.

“Musichetta!” Laigle cried. “Joly!” Bahorel held the boy back, and Feuilly was speaking with him in a soft tone to try and soothe him. Jehan was hanging over the edge, looking for any sign of Joly or Musichetta. The deck grew silent, and all became scared. Laigle had reduced to tears, collapsing in Bahorel’s arms; and Jehan bowed his head in a silent prayer. Enjolras was fighting and urge to knock Montparnasse out, while Grantaire and Éponine were trudging across the deck to do just that.

“Someone throw me a line!” Joly yelled, resurfacing. The dancers cheered, and Gavroche tossed a rope out for Joly to grab. In his arms, limp and almost lifeless, was Musichetta. Bossuet pulled his lovers in and Cosette sacrificed her towel for Musichetta (Marius helped her secure her top, of course).

Joly locked his hands and began pressing on the girl’s chest. Beneath his breath he mumbled the lyrics to Stayin’ Alive, meaning that Bahorel and Marius couldn’t help but laugh a little at the boy’s strange time-keeping technique. Then, he pressed his lips to hers and breathed. This continued for what felt like the longest time. Breathing and pressing, pressing and breathing… Tears streamed down eyes and Jehan continued his little prayer. Éponine and Cosette held each other, and even Montparnasse seemed to be regretting his decision that almost murdered an innocent girl. Finally Joly had to give up, and he curled into Laigle’s arms. All seemed lost until Musichetta began coughing and hacking.

“’Chetta!”


	5. Oops I Did it Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chetta lives, Eponine is all knowing, and Grantaire speaks more than one language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire goes through a lot here. I always liked the headcanon that R grew up on the border of Spain. I don't know why. Call me crazy! It just really does it for me, you know? Also, I feel like it would have impressed the heck out of Enjolras, who in my mind is not patient enough to learn anything other than English and how to count to three in Spanish. Again, call me crazy. Grantaire is also not so bitter towards his family. Mostly towards his aunt, grandmother, and aunt. You're going to see it all unfold. My Spanish may be bad, sorry! I may have slithered some Italian in there. Same with French. If you can't read Spanish, basically all it is is R getting yelled at for cursing, then asking if everything is ready for his date.
> 
> Everyone is French something.
> 
> Also sorry for taking five billion years. I'll explain everything back over Sound of Miserables

The ambulance had shown up five minutes ago. As much as her partners would have liked to follow, Joly was trying to calm down from an anxiety shock and Laigle was keeping an eye on him. Feuilly and Jehan said they would go with Musichetta so she would have company, and it would’ve cheered Joly up significantly if he wasn’t preoccupied with soothing his shot nerves. Bahorel began stomping around the deck to find Montparnasse, literally knocking down any Javert student in his way. Not even Montparnasse’s cronies, who Marius learned called themselves Patron-Minette, were trying to hold him back. Inside the boat’s small kitchen, Combeferre was playing therapist to a seething Enjolras. Gavroche and his brothers were both frightened stiff _and_ impatient to go swimming again, so Courfeyrac was entertaining the boys with a game of UNO. Surrounding Marius was Eponine, Cosette, and R.

It was in this moment that Marius finally understood everybody. Like a poet, he saw them all. He didn’t see them as dancers, or as the guitarist, or the artists. Everything he’d learned about them in the past weeks accumulated into the perfect biography of them all. The motherly sculptor, the Romantic poet, the brute with a soft side, the drunken artist, the scared revolutionary, the philosophical hypochondriac, the blissful klutz, the flirtatious friend of all, the sneaky and intelligent youth, the calm listener, the sweet fighter, and the organized believer. Then there was him, the dumbest smart kid in the world – naïve, love struck, and ditzy all wrapped up in the body of someone fluent in thirteen languages.

Beside him Eponine was looking at him. More like gazing. She looked confused and a bit hurt, but mostly confused. Marius could hear the thumping of her thoughts bouncing about her head. The girl whipped her head around to stare at Combeferre in the kitchen, then at Courfeyrac on the deck, and then back to Marius. Eponine thought more… then she began laughing.

“What is it?” Marius asked, chuckling himself.

“Oh, nothing too spectacular!” she giggled, falling into his arms and letting him hug her. “It’s just… well, I believe I might have thought I was in love with you.”

“What does that mean?” Marius said, tilting his head.

“I thought I was in love with you.”

“How does that happen?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess you’re the only one who I let in immediately… other than R and Cosette, I was never really close with anyone else. I was always with Montparnasse, it seemed. But now I’m okay, so don’t worry.”

“But everyone likes you very much,” he pressed, confused.

Eponine shrugged and looked at her feet. “I grow up in a very strange household, Marius,” she explained. “My parents were head of a brigand. They were only just arrested last year for a string of crimes I could have been charged for as well had it not been for Cosette’s father.”

“Huh?”

“Cosette lived with my parents as a foster daughter before Valjean came to get her,” she continued. “He couldn’t take me, of course, because he didn’t have the right. But then he found out about my parents and rescued us. Taught us all how to dance like professionals and let me and my siblings stay with him.”

“I’m sorry you went through all that,” Marius apologised.

“Don’t be,” she sighed. “Not your fault… Basically, I was never really someone to trust others after that. Just Cosette. I love Cosette. She’s like a sister. I treated her like scum for years but… she never held that against me.”

“Uh huh…”

“I saw the way you looked at her and felt the first pang of jealousy I’d felt towards her in years. Or maybe…. maybe the first time I actually noticed I was jealous…. Marius, I don’t know what it was. I saw the way you looked at her, I suppose, and thought, ‘that’s what I want… I want love.’”

Marius felt ashamed and stupid for never noticing. His cheeks burned and a boiling hatred swirled around in his stomach. He wanted to hunt down these people who made Eponine so distant and reserved as she described herself, and he wanted to find someone to love her. No, he wanted her to love herself, and attract someone who would only boost her higher. Someone who would not only support her, but let himself be supported.

“R started coming here when he was in the eighth grade,” continued Eponine. “He and Bahorel. Bahorel wasn’t very friendly, though, when he came. He was dealing with behavioural disorders and anger issues. I remember how Azelma wouldn’t come to dance for weeks because ‘Rel would have a tantrum every time he messed up a move or couldn’t get something.”

Marius looked over at Bahorel, who had either beaten the crap out of Montparnasse or simply given up on doing so, and saw he was bringing Joly tea, stirring the drink with a tiny spoon held in thick, dark fingers.

“I get he’s a tough guy, but I don’t see temper tantrum,” Marius murmured.

EPonine giggled sadly, “I’m proud of him for getting so calm…”

“You know a lot about everyone.”

“Only Cosette and I were here to see everyone come and go. The company, as you know, are the only students who are here at this school mainly for dance. Any other dancers use it as an extracurricular…. Anyway, Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac all came from wealthy homes and all came here together in the sixth grade. Best friends for life, I tell you. Knew everything there was to know about each other. Enjolras had actually began doing Irish with them, but started pole dancing after two months. Sometimes, when he does political rallies, he climbs up the flag pole and hangs upside down so people will notice him.”

Into the kitchen his eyes wandered, peering at the blond Adonis currently shuffling a deck of cards. Marius had heard through the grape vine that he was very… revolutionary… That he held rallies and protests and had been arrested at least ten times already.

“Feuilly and Jehan were made for each other,” Eponine told him, smiling softly. “Jehan saw him busking outside of campus one day, trying to earn a few. Feuilly had never been to Wales before, yet he knew everything about it. He’s so smart… Never went to school until now. Taught himself to read and write. No mum or dad, no sister or brother… no nothing…”

“How’d he meet Jehan?” Pontmercy asked.

“Right… Jehan saw him busking and asked him what he was doing out of school. Feuilly said he was raising money to come to the school, and had already spent most of his money on the air fare from Paris. Turns out the two of them grew up next door to each other. Jehan spoke with the Headmaster and Vajlean and got Feuilly into the school.”

“It was probably no surprise when they started dating, huh?”

She laughed a sad laugh. “Joly and Bossuet just appeared one day. Nothing special about them until they became thick as thieves on the spot. Musichetta came over from Italy and joined their threesome…”

“Literally,” Marius interjected, snorting at his own joke. Eponine laughed too. “Marius… there’s nothing special about us. You look at us like we’re Jesus’s disciples in the flesh. We’re just a band of dancers with pasts who all came to the same place…” She breathed. “Marius… I don’t love you, I don’t think.”

Marius grinned and kissed her head. “Promise you’ll tell me if something is up?”

“Pinky toe promise!” Eponine squealed, kicking her leg up in the air.

“And… And don’t think things will be all awkward now,” he added.

“I sure hope not,” she agreed, looking up at him. “That’d be horrible. Like a really bad sitcom.”

“A really bad sitcom,” agreed Grantaire, adding himself to the conversation. “Of course, I’d watch it because I watch anything that sucks.”

“Innuendo alert,” Eponine interjected casually. Her sweet laughter died down and her face once again became sad. “I feel horrible laughing and smiling while Musichetta is hurt.”

“She wouldn’t want that, ‘Ponine,” said Cosette sweetly. “You know how much Musichetta hates it when people worry too much about her.”

“Too much?” gasped Eponine. “How much is too much for drowning?”

“Almost drowning,” corrected Marius.

“ _OOPS I DID IT AGAIN… I MESSED WITH YOUR HEART…_ ”

The three looked over slowly at Grantaire with confused faces. He was struggling with the cracked screen on his phone and couldn’t press the receive call button, so the iconic Britney Spears song blasted through the deck at maximum volume. On the bright side, it did bring a small smile and a few chuckles to everyone in hearing distance. Even Combeferre poked his head out of the kitchen to raise his eyebrows teasingly at the pole dancer with the broken phone.

When he finally answered the call, Grantaire threw his arms up in the air in celebration and let out a screech of, “Je suis sur le cul de ma bouteille!”

“ _FRÉDÉRIC MIGUEL NÚÑEZ-GRANTAIRE_!”

“Oh fu – ”

“Frédéric! ¡No hablas así!” a woman, one who sounded well aged yet stern, shouted at him from the other end. “¡Si tu mamá oyó!”

“Mamá no le gustaría, abuela,” Grantaire replied, turning red in the ears. He had to hold the speaker far away from his face to keep from having his ear drums blasted out. “¿Me puede comunicar con Tía Lily?”

“Esperas, Frédéric,” his grandmother replied. She yelled something away from the receiver, and loud footsteps were heard through the phone. Whoever got on next, they didn’t know. Except Marius, who spoke Spanish, but not as fast as Grantaire did. Also, whoever was on the other line was incredibly quieter than R’s grandmother. They could only hear Grantaire’s side of the conversation…

“Muy bien, grazie, Tía Lily, ¿y tú?”

“Bien…”

“No.”

“No.”

“No…”

“Si.”

“Si.”

“¿Todo está listo?”

“Bein.”

“Bein.”

“¿Me puede comunicar con padre?”

“No? ¿Donde es él?”

“¿Y mama?”

“Déjame hablar con ella.”

“Mummy! Comment allez-vous?”

“Oh, you want to practise your English?”

“Okay. How are you?”

“Great. Is everything ready at the library?”

“I’m bringing him when his cast is off completely.”

“Tell Abuela I miss her. And Tía. And Carolina.”

“No, not dad.”

“Yeah, okay, whatev- love you, too… Okay, bye.”

Grantaire hung up the phone and smiled like a three year old. Marius’s jaw was currently hitting the floor at how easy it was for Grantaire to switch between languages. Same went for Enjolras, who had left the kitchen and was staring at R like he’d just rescued a baby puppy or some other adorable heroic act. No one else was in awe.

“My God, man, how many languages do you speak?” Enjolras gasped.

R shrugged and took a swig from his flask. “Obviously French because we’re all… we’re all French. Has anybody noticed that we’re all French-somethings?”

“Yeah!” Cosette gasped, bringing out her fingers. “Musichetta is French-Italian, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are French-Irish, Bossuet is French-Swedish, Feuilly is French but really likes Poland, Bahorel is French-Scandinavian, Marius is French-English, and Enjolras, Jehan, Eponine, Joly and I are French. Scary”

“And I’m from the Spain,” Grantaire added. “So actually I speak more Catalan than French when you think about it. I learned English back in the fifth year because this school is in Wales and I needed to understand people. I learned Welsh for the fun of it. Then German, Swedish, Polish, Gaelic, Portuguese, and Mandarin.”

“Why?” gasped Enjolras, his eyes bulging out in interest.

“Why not?” R answered, mocking E’s excitement. “My mum is French and my dad is Spanish, and I grew up on the border. Also, Enjolras, when we go on our date I’m taking you a bit out of town so pack a bag?”

“For a date?”

“Just in case we don’t get on the road early enough and need to rest.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see, okay?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> herp a derp the date

**_The Date_ **

It was well into October when Enjolras had his cast removed and was in a easily ignored brace. He still wasn’t dancing, but troupe members would catch him time to time mapping out movements on the floor. Musichetta was okay now. The hospital took care of her and had her breathing properly in no time. Joly was overwhelmed with the compliments he received concerning saving her and performing CPR. Musichetta’s parents asked to take her home for a week in order to just be with her after this frightening event, so Bossuet and Joly spent most of their time sulking.

But, as much as he hated to admit it, R didn’t care. It was a cool Saturday, with white clouds that hid the sun just enough. The temperature was perfectly survivable to drive a couple miles on his bike. Grantaire rode over to Enjolras’s dorm house, knocking on the door and practically trembling from head to toe. Combeferre opened the door, wrapped in a blue towel and dripping water on the floor. Behind him, Bahorel and Marius were also knotting towels around their wet waists. R snorted and raised an eyebrow.

“I swear, we’re not having an orgy,” Combeferre said nonchalantly.

“So it’s naked day?”

“Nah,” the other answered, leaning on the door frame and holding his toothbrush in his mouth. “Feels like it, though. See, I was in the shower, but then Enjolras kicked me out so he could take one, but he didn’t even get in because he had to get something. So then Bahorel hopped in because it was on and empty, so Enjolras kicked him out. Then Marius. Then Jehan. We’re all half showered and a bit pissed off.”

“Did he get in the shower?” R asked, hearing the water running in the background.

“In it now. Told him he was gonna be late if he kept goofing off,” Combeferre said.

“I don’t mind,” laughed Grantaire.

The water sound stopped and the door opened, Enjolras walking out in a cloud of steam. A tight red jumper stuck to his skin, and the jeans he wore were slipping down his waist, revealing hip bones and red briefs.

“Finally!” Bahorel groaned, shoving the blond into the living room.

“Fecking bitch,” laughed Marius, kicking Enjolras in the butt and dragging his pants down, tripping him. Everyone stopped to laugh at the sight of the blond sprawled out on the floor with his pants down to his ankles.

“Ha ha,” Enjolras mocked, standing up and pulling his pants up. “So funny…”

“Hey, Enjolras,” said Combeferre.

“Yeah?” replied the blond, struggling to get his pants past the ankle.

“Look who’s here?”

Combeferre stepped aside and revealed R, who waved awkwardly. Enjolras gasped and fell down again. “Grantaire!”

“Is everything you own red?” he asked, chuckling and blushing at Enjolras in red boxers.

“No…”

“Yes.”

“Combeferre…”

“Yes.”

Enjolras stood back up and jumped, his jeans slipping past his knees and back up to his waist. He shook the water from his hair and walked over to the door, grabbing a black coat and mahogany scarf on the way.

“How did it go from kill-me hot to kill-me cold?” Combeferre asked, watching the blond bundle up.

Grantaire was dressed in a thin green t-shirt and a tattered leather jacket. A green beanie around his head was the closest thing to ‘bundling up’ for him. Enjolras walked out the door and next to R.

“Well… bye,” he said awkwardly.

“Don’t forget these,” chuckled Combeferre, slipping something in his coat pocket.

“What is that?”

“Condoms,” he answered, collapsing with laughter when Enjolras threw them back at him in disgust.

Grantaire had wanted to use a car, but couldn’t drive one and neither could Enjolras, and the blond said he didn’t mind the bike, so at nine that morning they set out.

R drove through the town surrounding their school. He drove to the centre of the old square and up to an old brick building with a beautifully painted sign on the front that read “Light Reading Book Palace.”

Enjolras stepped off the bike and removed the helmet, looking up at the sign. “Book palace?” he asked, looking at the sign and laughing.

“I thought of it when I was, like, five,” R chuckled. “I painted the sign.”

“I like it. What are we doing here?”

“This is where our date it.”

“At a book store?”

“I think you’ll like it.”

Grantaire led Enjolras inside the “book palace” and let him look around. The shelves were built in such a way that they bent and twisted and created alcoves, the book staying in place with glass and plastic. Tiny tables littered the floor and chairs, sofas, pillows, and beanbags were everywhere. Rentable MP3 players were available for borrowing while you read with a different playlist of genres for each one. A children’s learning section that resembled a barricade was in the corner, but more than just kids were huddled behind the piles of broken chairs and cracked tables. Teenagers, adults, and college students were pulling flags and muskets from the toy chest and making a silent ruckus of a revolution. They recognised many faces from school, and Grantaire wondered why Enjolras hadn’t already come here at least once. Grantaire lead him to the desk where an old, Spanish woman sat, sorting book donations.

“This place is nice,” the blond said. “So creative.”

“Gracias,” the woman mumbled, not looking up from her work.

“Abuela, esta es Enjolras. El tipo yo hablé por ti sobre,” Grantaire said, once again wowing Enjolras.

“¡Oh!” she exclaimed, standing up and walking toward them. “¡La hombre guapo te gusta! Mmm, él es muy atractivo.”

Grantaire blushed horribly, his entire face going red. Before he could speak, his grandmother called into the office behind her. “¡Lily! ¡Frédéric es aquí! ¡Y él trajo un hombre con él!”

A young woman walked out of the office, a stack of books in her arms. The grandmother pressed a kiss to her cheek and brought her over to see Enjolras and Grantaire. Lily extended her hand and the blond shook it.

“Mamá, he doesn’t speak Spanish,” she said with ease. “Sorry about her. She never learned French, and her English is not so good.”

“No problem,” Enjolras replied.

“Lily is my Father’s sister. They grew up in Spain, and my mother grew up in France,” R explained, hugging his aunt. “When they married they lived on the border, so my sister and I grew up speaking Catalan, French, and Spanish.”

“Interesting,” Enjolras sighed, nodding.

R turned to his aunt. “Can I have to keys to my alcove?”

“Sure,” she replied, handing him a keychain with a green R hanging off of it beside a dirty key. Grantaire grabbed it in his hands and held it like a precious gem. Enjolras looked at them with confusion. The brown haired boy just laughed and took Enjolras’s hand hesitantly, smiling when the blond squeezed.

They walked through the library until they reached a small door in the wall of the ‘Random’ section, two book shelves filled with books ranging from philosophy to graphic novel. Enjolras took a second to look at them all, smiling at the thought of a random section in a library. He both adored and despised the idea of reaching into a book shelf and getting any random book. Grantaire opened the door and grabbed Enjolras again, tugging him into the doorway. The two teens tumbled on the floor, landing on top of each other.

“Where are we?” whispered Enjolras.

“My alcove,” R answered, pulling a chord and filling the room with light. Multi-coloured lights filled the walls, and fluffy carpet paired with pillows made the ground feel soft and bouncy. The walls were bookshelves, filled with all of R’s favourite reads.

“It’s so… awesome.”

“Thanks…”

It was awkward at first, sitting in the tiny room and exchanging small conversation. Soon they ran out of things to say and simply read from the books on the wall. Enjolras discovered R’s collection of sketch books, and became enthralled in the pictures that dated back to the curly-haired boy’s kindergarten years. Even the simple crayon drawings were amazing, and all of them had the same ‘R’ scribbled in the corner above the date. The blond noticed Grantaire was reading plays, and he crawled over to him and began reciting the lines in funny voices that had R hiccupping and gasping for breath. The play books and musical scripts were ripped from the walls and performed by the two in the privacy of R’s alcove.

“Cecily! I have not mentioned anything about a headache!” wailed Enjolras in a raspy tone that was supposed to be the voice of an old woman. Grantaire was holding the copy of The Importance of Being Earnest in his hands, laying on the floor, and Enjolras would have to peer over him to see it because he was – platonically – straddling his hips.

“No, dear Miss Prism, I know that,” Grantaire chuckled, his voice high pitched to mimic young Cecily Cardew, “but I felt instinctively that you had a headache. Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my German lesson, when the Rector came in.”

“Screw the German lesson!” Enjolras shouted, collapsing against R in a fit of giggles. “I hated German in middle school.”

“Read your line!” R gasped.

“Fine…” Enjolras sat back up and scooted up R’s hips to read. “I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.”

“Feck yeah I am.”

“Oh, I am afraid I am,” corrected the blond.

“What is he, afraid of contractions?”

“Don’t insult Oscar Wilde.”

 “That is strange!” laughed Grantaire, reading from the script. “Were I fortunate enough to be Miss Prism’s student I would hang upon her lips…”

“I mean that literally!”

Enjolras shoved his lips against Grantaire’s. The book was pressed between their chests, along with R’s folded hands. They kissed lazily for a while, laughing and snorting occasionally. Grantaire finally pulled away and shoved the book in Enjolras’s face with a chuckle.

“Read your line!’ he demanded, cheeks pink and chest heaving.

“I don’t wanna,” whined the blond, dipping his head to kiss Grantaire again but his lips met the book cover instead.

“Read!” the curly-haired teen yelled, laughing uncontrollably.

“We do not expec-blahblahblblmmmm…” Enjolras trailed off and met R’s lips again. Grantaire let go of the book and grabbed his shoulders. The folds of his jumper bunched up in his hands. Enjolras pushed back Grantaire’s leather jacket, the material making a squeaking noise. The beanie was shoved away and thin fingers tangled in dark curls.

Grantaire cupped the blond’s face and pulled him off slightly. Enjolras smirked and poked the other’s lips with his tongue. R moaned softly, but pushed him off farther. He whined and frowned at him.

“Enjolras,” R panted, “I’m all for snogging in my alcove. Trust me, I’ve dreamt of this.”

“Heh heh…”

“Where is this going?” Grantaire asked, letting go of Enjolras and letting their lips crash back together.

“I didn’t know this would go so well,” he admitted.

“It’s not over yet…” answered R. “We go to dinner, too.”

“Dinner, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmmm…”

They kissed again, fingers intertwining with each other. They made out in Grantaire’s alcove for at least two hours. On and off between laughing and kissing, a knock on the door shook them back into reality. Enjolras pulled away and sat up on R’s hips, his lips kiss swollen. R attempted to fix his hair (to no avail).

“Frédéric?” his Aunt Lily called, knocking.

“Yes, Tia?” he replied, sitting up as well.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “We’re closing up.”

Enjolras looked at his watch and gasped. They’d been together since nine to five. He scrambled off of Grantaire and they opened the door, collecting their thing and crawling out. Lily looked them over and cast R a knowing look that made him blush all over again. Grantaire handed her the keys and gave her and his grandmother a hug goodbye before walking Enjolras outside. Their hands were connected, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Dinner?” the blond asked, climbing back on R’s bike.

“Yeah, I’m taking you to this underground place. Literally, it’s underground.”

Before Enjolras could ask, they were riding down the road. Enjolras’s hands were tight around his waist, sweat collecting between them. The ride, which only lasted five minutes, felt like eternity. Enjolras liked it. He even allowed himself to lean again Grantaire’s back affectionately.

The bike pulled up to an old building, a broken sign reading ‘The Basement’ pointing to a set of stairs that led to a cellar. They went down and emerged into a dark restaurant that looked somewhere between hipster café and high-class dinner place. The tables had dark blue table cloths and little candles. A waitress seated them at a table near the stage, and brought them ginger ale and breadsticks.

“This place has great Italian food,” Grantaire said, biting off the edge of a breadstick.

“And performance?” Enjolras asked, nodding towards the stage.

“Yeah,” R answered. “Comedy tonight.”

They ordered and ate, the comedy acts having begun when they got their food. Enjolras and R, whose stomach’s hurt from laughing so much already, became tense with each joke. A dessert was brought out for them to share, and they’d eaten every last bite. The pair left the restaurant, arms wound around each other. It was dark, and the ride home was a bit scary.

When Enjolras was dropped off, Grantaire walked him to the door. It was one in the morning, and they were both exhausted. Enjolras put his key in the door, but didn’t turn the knob. He hesitated, then turned around to face R.

“I had fun,” he said, smiling.

“Me too,” Grantaire replied.

“Can we… do this again sometime?” he asked.

“Sure… Anytime…”

Enjolras leaned forward and kissed him softly. He scrunched up R’s shirt in his fists, and they stayed like that. Their lips formed a smile against one another. Behind them, the door opened and Combeferre stared at them. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire with a soft smack. They both chuckled softly and forced themselves to pull away. Enjolras flattened Grantaire’s shirt, and he blushed. The blond waved shyly and ran inside, slipping past Combeferre. The other boy nodded goodbye to R, and watched him get on his bike and ride away.

“Fecking morons,” mumbled Combeferre.


	7. Bahorel is a Softie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No offense to anyone with behavioral issues or anger management problems. His reactions are based of my own issues, so they don't apply to everybody. Also, clIFFHANGER

As they rolled through October and the days after the date of Enjolras and Grantaire, the entire campus seemed locked in fangirl mode. The two boys hadn’t exactly taken long to start a relationship; according to Courfeyrac (according to almost everyone, actually) they had ship tons of romantic and sexual tension that had just been boiling up around them until now. Marius didn’t know if people were excited because they were a cute couple, or because they didn’t have to deal with the two oblivious fools.

The two never really acted like a couple, however. Not saying that they totally hated one another and were always arguing… but when they showed up anywhere they never held hands, or rarely kissed hello and goodbye. One of the always said it was too hot, or that they were probably in a hurry. Now that they had pushed through October and the weather turned cool and wet, their hands were often intertwined. Grantaire would often wrap his arms around Enjolras, because the red revolutionary was always forgetting it was freezing outside. This was about the extent of their love-dovey-ness.

The scene was much different at the school Halloween party. Enjolras, wearing an over sexualized costume version of a pirate, was pressed against his curly-haired boyfriend and sharing small, yet heated, kisses with the boy in the Viking costume. When Marius says he’s wearing an over sexualized costume of a pirate, keep in mind he is protesting how stupid it is that these costumes are just about the only option for women and is also currently wearing a pair of booty shorts and a corset (with a large, gaudy earring to match). Just about everyone at the party wanted to take a picture with him, or congratulate him on such a wonderful protest, and some guys from Creative Writing left and came back, having switched costumes with their girlfriends, and began a Facebook campaign. This led to the kids from Business Club and the students in Fashion Art and Design to collaborate an idea for a company that provides females with regular costumes and males with “sexy” ones (because sometimes guys wanna wear those). A simple Halloween party became a small, unplanned rally against costumes. All because Enjolras wore a corset.

He and R were tucked away in the corner, enjoying one another as the music blasted around them. Like mentioned before, Enjolras was a pirate and Grantaire was a Viking. Feuilly and Jehan were Alaska Thunderfvck and Sharon Needles; Éponine was a flapper; Cosette was dressed as a fairy (complete with wings); Joly, Laigle, and Musichetta were Batman, Robin, and Cat Woman; Courfeyrac was decked out in his Harry Potter duds, skipping around the room with a flash light tied to a stick; Combeferre, being the cultured soul he is, had traced an eye on his forehead and masqueraded as Cecil Baldwin; Bahorel had been talked into dressing as the Green Giant from the Vegetable cans; Gavroche couldn’t decide on Batman or Green Lantern, so he wore both; Azelma was a zombie; and Marius dressed as Peter Pan.

Bahorel, painted green and tugging at a leafy toga, was staring across the room at a laughing girl. She had a nice, healthy laugh that made Marius smile. A dark and dirty wedding gown hung off her shoulders and the powdery make up all over her face completed the look of a skeleton bride. Her hand was fisted on her stomach as her face turned red. Whatever joke had been said was no longer funny, and her pals were now guffawing at her hysteric hooting. Bahorel gazed at her like she was an oasis in a desert.

Cosette walked up next to Marius and tapped his shoulder. “Who’s that girl Bahorel keeps staring at?” she asked.

“Not a clue,” Marius answered.

“She’s pretty,” she said. “Very giggly, though.”

Across the room, Jehan and Feuilly were lip-syncing to some NSYNC song Marius couldn’t recognize, dancing around. The laughing girl heard more the sounds of entertained people and ran over, her snickers renewing. Rel followed with trained eyes.

He barely saw the shoe hit him.

Barely.

Jehan, red faced and smiling, covered his mouth with his hands. Marius looked down his body and noticed a high heeled shoe was not present on his right foot. It was, however, present between Bahorel’s strong fingers. The little poet began walking over to retrieve the pump, but something switched in the other teen. It was like an entirely new person had taken over Bahorel. He became livid, charging on tiny Jehan and spitting curses. The shoe in his hand bent under the pressure. Feuilly stepped forward and filled the space between the brute and his boyfriend, holding up a hand in warning. Bahorel scoffed and grabbed the fan-maker’s fingers, bending them back. The room cringed as Feuilly howled in pain and fell to the floor.

“Bahorel! Calm down!” said Combeferre, speed walking through the crowd to get to the furious teenager. Grantaire had left Enjolras to pull Bahorel away. The room grew silent as Combeferre placed cautious hands on the bigger boy’s shoulders and spoke softly to him.

“Breath with me, ‘Rel,” he instructed.

“But he hit me, ‘Ferre,” groaned Bahorel, frowning.

“Just breath with me,” Combeferre continued. “Calm down. One. In… Out…”

“In… Out…”

“Keep going, ‘Rel.”

Embarrassed, he looked down and continued counting to himself. By number six R and ‘Ferre let him go so he could just… leave. Make an escape from the party by pushing down two people and running onto the deck. The guests either made a move to go to him (which Combeferre said not to, because he needed some space) or pretended nothing had happened because it was just so awkward. Marius shoved past Combeferre and onto the deck, looking at the strong teen leaning over the banister.

It was so strange. Bahorel was his friend. They lived in the same home, slept in the same room. Bahorel was a sweet, sensitive guy, really. He liked Disney movies and still couldn’t watch ‘adult cartoons’ because they made him uncomfortable. He planted herbs in the window and ate the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms box. There was a picture of his kitten back home in his wallet. This was the guy who helped people carry their groceries, or helped seniors and little kids across the street. Who Marius saw back there was someone else entirely. An angry, stressed, and violent person…

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, not thinking.

Bahorel looked up, and blushed. “No one ever talks about it,” he said.

“Oh, okay…”

“No,” he said. “I mean… I want to talk about it. Nobody… ever wants to.”

“Oh!” Marius walked over and leaned next to Bahorel. “So what’s up?”

“I thought I was pretty much over my anger issues,” Bahorel admitted. “And it wasn’t even a big thing! A shoe, Marius! On accident! I probably broke Feuilly’s hand!”

“Why do you think you got so angry?” Marius inquired, looked over at his friend thoughtfully.

Rel shrugged. “A lot… A lot on my plate,” he mumbled. “Stress.”

“Grades? Family?”

“Girls… Girl, actually,” he chuckled, smiling shyly.

Marius grinned and rubbed his shoulder. “Is it that laughing girl in there?” he asked, pointing to the female in question through the glass door.

“Yeah,” Bahorel confirmed, nodding happily. “Her name is Marzia. She just transferred here from the sub-branch in Italy. She’s madly brilliant, and her laugh…”

“I know the feeling,” Marius snorted, thinking about Cosette. “So she’s got you all wound up because you… you like this girl and… and can’t express your feelings?”

“I guess,” Bahorel said. “Like, I get nervous, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And when I get nervous I don’t… I can’t… handle it. So I get angry.”

“And she makes you nervous?”

“She makes me nervous.”

Marius smiled at the other and laughed. Bahorel, obviously confused because his brows furrowed, cocked his head. Marius pointed to Marzia, who was talking to Combeferre, and pushed Rel softly toward the sliding glass door that separated them.

“Trust me… Just go and talk to her,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Trust me. Go on.”

“Believe it or not, I can’t.”

“What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity!”

“You told me you lost everything when that smoothie shop closed down two weeks ago.”

“There are new things to lose.”

“Like?”

“My lunch! My dignity! My…”

“… Status as a single guy. Come on.”

“No.”

“Go.”

“Marius…”

“Bahorel.”

“Fine…”

Bahorel went inside and strutted over to Marzia. Marius followed at a close distance and listened in. The two of them spoke about general things at first. She asked how she was and he said fine, because he was, and then asked if she thought bad of him, which she said no to. Then they started getting all red faced and smiling like idiots. She was laughing at the small jokes he made, even if they were horrible, and touching his arm lightly. Marius didn’t catch much of their conversation, but picked up the end:

“So I was wondering if you’d maybe want to dance with me?” Bahorel asked her shyly.

“I would love to!” she giggled, throwing her arms up.

“Really?”

“Of course!”

She took his hand and dragged him onto the dance floor, the song changing suddenly.

But it didn’t last.

Five policemen kicked open the door and turned on the lights. One of them unplugged the stereo. They were all confused, standing there with five angry police staring them down. Bjorn, the boy Marius met that first day, stepped forward and tried to calmly explain to the officers that they had to be at the wrong place.

“Sir, this is a school event,” he explained, smiling warmly. “This is a school run café. We don’t have a permit, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Shush, brat,” snarled an officer.

“We weren’t disturbing the peace, officer,” Bjorn tried to continue.

“This doesn’t concern you, kid!” he said, pushing Bjorn away. “And get a proper haircut. Damn teenagers. Listen! We’re looking for some people. When they’ve made their presence known and follow us to the police headquarters, you all can finish wasting your lives.”

He pulled out a list and began reading from it.

“Fídilé Enjolras!”

Enjolras swaggered over angrily, glaring at the policemen.

“Frédéric Miguel Nuñez-Grantaire!”

R shuffled across the floor to his boyfriend.

“Jean Prouvaire! Mika Feuilly! Laigle de Meux! Coinneach Courfeyrac! Ceatin Combeferre! Euphrasie Fauchelevent! Marius Pontmercy! Eponine Thenardier! Geo-Noah Bahorel…”

He kept barking out name after name. Les Amis clumped together, eyebrows knitted in confusion and eyes cold with rage. The policemen shoved them into tiny squad cars and drove them into town, the rude guy with no hair blasting horrid disco music instead of playing the radio like he was supposed to. When they finally arrived at the station, everyone was shocked to see Cosette’s father, Javert, and those brats with Montparnasse. Bahorel’s nostrils flared when he noticed them, but Monty simply nodded towards the policemen with a smirk.

“Why are we here?” asked Enjolras, pulling an annoyed face.

“Shut up!” barked that one officer.

“You can’t tell me to do that,” he snapped back. “Why are we here?”

A second policeman stepped forward and hushed the rude one, an old guy named Porter. Porter huffed and leaned against the desk. He was a large, unattractive male in his late forties with no hair and a bushy moustache and glaring eyes. The second one, a young fellow called Henry Mink, took over in a calm and respectable voice.

“Listen, guys, we can’t sugar coat this,” he said, pulling out some papers. “Your school headmaster has been murdered. We have to give this even more attention than usual because this is the second time a headmaster has been murdered at your school, beginning with Miss Fantine.”

Marius felt Cosette grapple for his hand. He took hers in his and squeezed tight, letting her take refuge in his grasp for one second while this man openly spoke of her mother. Cosette was biting her quivering lip, constantly blinking as to not cry. Tiny nostrils flared continuously like she was about to break. Marius simply wanted to take her away from all this.

“Lamarque and Fantine’s deaths lead us to the idea that it was Jean Valjean who committed the crime, seeing as he is deputy headmaster. After much investigation, because Lamarque has actually been dead for weeks now, we discovered something a little different…”

Mink pulled out a projector and dimmed the lights. He flicked on the machine, which was from the 90s and made a loud whirring noise while working, and directed the crew’s attention to the image on the white wall. It was a belt, covered in blood and very worn looked. The buckle was painted with crusty red blood.

“Obviously, this could have been a possible murder weapon. We inspected for handprints, and found those matching none other than one of your own… Our suspicions were furthered with the inscription of ‘Fídilé Enjolras’ beneath the buckle in red sharpie. We checked the house of the suspected and found that all of his belts, in fact, all of his clothing, were marked the same way.”

“Now hold on!” yelled Enjolras. “You can’t just snoop through my things! I have rights!”


	8. Another Convict

“Listen, kid, when someone has died we get to make some changes!” howled Porter. “Now sit back down. You have quite a record here. You all do!”

“Porter, please,” murmured Mink, turning to his colleague with embarrassment sketching itself across his face. Marius liked this man. Not simply because he was young… Henry Mink was a twenty-nine year old former detective with a Japanese background. He’d left his position when his wife had given birth to their second child, and the little girl was very sick. It was now, two years later, he opted for a calmer position in Wales as a policeman. Porter, on the other hand, was just a dick, and you should all hate him because he is the visual representation of what all is wrong with the world and the police system. Unless you’re Canadian, because I hear they have “good citizen” tickets now. You, kind feckers, you.

“I think they should know how careful they need to be!” he chuckled sinisterly. Porter grabbed a stack of files off his desk, and Enjolras scoffed at how readily prepared he was to embarrass them. “We’ve seen plenty of you, Fídelé! Since 2010 you’ve been here sixteen times for disorderly conduct, disturbance of the peace, and lack of respect for the law!”

“Holding rallies for what’s right and just is not disorderly conduct!” retorted the blond.

Porter made a low growling noise, and he seemed to snarl at the fuming Adonis. Grantaire flinched in his seat, blue eyes becoming simple rings around blown pupils. This reaction caused the rude policeman to turn, happily, to R.

“Frédéric Miguel Nuñez-Grantaire, our little drunk. How many DUIs do you have?”

“One. I don’t drive intoxicated,” R mumbled. “I may be stupid, but I’m not fecking stupid.”

“Hmm…” Porter looked a bit shot down, but still thumbed at his records. “Still, underage drinking, truancy, appearing places drunk and not being able to hold yourself to normal conduct. Bad… Jean, I see you and Mika are bending a bit today.”

“What my boyfriend and I choose to wear is our own decision,” Jehan said, flipping his blue wig behind his shoulder. He reached for Feuilly’s hand, but the teen winced and grabbed at his sore joints. Bahorel looked down, ashamed.

“Oh! Mr Feuilly, where’d you get that?” Porter laughed, pulling painfully at Feuilly’s fingers and observing them. Feuilly whimpered and Jehan glared. “Get in another fist fight over drugs? I thought it was usually Prouvaire who was the aggressive stoner. Let’s see, are you in possession again?”

He went down the line, reading from his files and spitting in their faces. Marius gasped internally, not believing that such good people could have so much trouble with the law. The worse thing he’d ever done was steal a cookie from the jar before supper. Éponine, Gavroche, and the boys, a band of crooks; Bahorel had been to jail three times for beating the literal snot out of people and was on watch for aggressive conduct; Combeferre and Courfeyrac were in the same boat as Enjolras, same with Joly, Laigle, and Musichetta. Cosette, sweet Cosette, was a bit disorderly after her mother’s death, but cleaned up pretty well after a couple therapy sessions with Valjean.

“Who are you?” grunted Porter, closing his beady eyes into slits and glaring at Marius.

“That’s Pontmercy,” said Mink. “The one with the big signature.”

“What?”

“This is why you’re all here,” Mink told them calmly, switching through slides and shutting off Porter. They were all shocked to see not only evidence against Valjean and Enjolras, but the rest of them as well. Jewellery, student IDs… Marius looked down at his knuckles in shock to see he was missing his father’s ring, and instead it was in a plastic baggy labelled “evidence.” But the most shocking of all was the red marker graffiti on the portrait of Fantine that read “Les Amis de l’ABC kill 4 ur convict! signed ERCCJFJLBGMMCE!” Each letter was written in different handwriting that matched their own (respectively).

“So what you’re saying is we’re under arrest?” gasped Combeferre. “Officer, hear us out, we’ve got to be framed. Drugged, at least, for evidence that well done. Trust me, if we were to commit a murder, we’d have much more ability and skill than the shoddy work shown here. Listen to us, please.”

“You aren’t being arrested,” Mink said softly.

“A damn shame,” scoffed Porter.

“Be quiet!” snapped Mink, turning to the other and watching the scared expression on his face. “They’re scared enough as it is! We’ve ruined their evening already! Just go!”

Porter scuttled his rude ass out of the room and into his office. Not without flipping the younger man off first, of course. Because he’s a dick.

“Listen, kids, I don’t think you did it,” said Mink. “Neither does Inspector Javert.”

“Uhm, I’m retired, Henry,” Javert corrected, smiling softly.

“You don’t think they did it?” gasped Montparnasse, looking at his headmaster like he’d just told him that the cream was the best part of the Oreo.

“It’s obvious they were framed, Julian, I can’t fluff that up,” Javert said. “Even if I hate your school and this dance troupe, and plan to pulverize the competition at finals, I was called in to take a look by Valjean. I had to do him the favour, I knew he, or his Cosette, could have done something like this.”

“Then what about all the evidence?” asked Joly, cocking his head.

“Ah ha! See, we were looking at the evidence, and one big piece was missing: fingerprints. None of the present prints matched any of yours. The ones on the belt, except for two hand prints on the buckle belonging to Nuñez-Grantaire and Enjolras, matched other people. We decided that since the blood was on the buckle, and nowhere else, and since the two are… dating… perhaps the prints were there for… _other_ reasons.”

Enjolras brought his face into his palm and blushed horribly. Courfeyrac laughed and high fived R, who had a smug face. Combeferre chuckled under his breath and offered Enjolras a pat on the back.

“Right…” continued Mink, “The other handprints were brought back to the same people who killed Fantine. The Nat’l Guard Brigand. Led by the… the Thénardiers.”

“Our parents did that?” asked Gavroche in a hushed voice.

“Afraid so… The Nat’l Guard began a couple years ago. They’ve murdered and injured a total of eleven headmasters, CEOs, and business owners across Europe and America. They recently took down a German business man while he was in Berlin visiting family. A private school in Atlanta has been shut down because the head of school was strangled in her office while delivering the morning announcements. These guys a terrible, and damn near impossible to catch.”

“Then why are we here?” asked Cosette. “You said you know we didn’t do it.”

“First, we don’t know,” Javert pointed out, “we are just very confident in your innocence. Further investigation and questioning will go down.”

“Besides, I would like to know if I was framed for murder,” Mink attempted at a joke.

“The Nat’l Guard play fun at the military and law branches of the world. They use military tactics to perform their murders. That’s one of the reasons that they’ve escaped our grasp for so long,” Javert told them. “We’ve caught their leaders, and the other guys aren’t too happy about it. If we could just catch the others, then we could let you guys go.”

Valjean, who had been silent this entire time, placed a hand on Javert’s back and nodded before murmuring, “These kids have got to be innocent.”

“We’ve kept it under wraps for a while,” Mink said. “This is why we get a bit more free space for you to… to help us.”

“Help you?” inquired Combeferre, voice as dignified and intellectual as usual. “How on heaven and earth do you expect for us to assist you in finding these murderers? We’re a couple of teenagers, not the Clue Crew. Officer, I’m not seeing how you plan to… use us.”

“Bait,” Mink flat planned with a shrug.

“Excuse me?” gasped Courfeyrac. “Bait?”

“Bait.”

 

“Éponine, are you alright?”

“I’m not ready for this, Marius.”

“Hold my hand, it’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t want you there.”

“But you asked me to come…”

“Before I knew my parents were monsters!”

“Éponine, don’t say that.”

“If they’re monsters, I’m a monster.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re amazing. Anything but a monster.”

“Cosette, sweet Cosette, who has shown me so much compassion had every reason to chew me out back there. Related to the people who killed her mother… I feel like trash.”

“Éponine, shut your…. your… _freaking_ mouth right now, so help me God!”

Marius grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. The dark haired girl in his arms trembled, but no tears ran down her face. Not even a sniffle. Marius pressed a kiss to her temple. The two stood in the centre of the jail hallway, a plethora of workers, officers, and inmates walking past them with confused faces.

“You ready?” he murmured, looking her in the eyes.

She nodded and headed down the hallway alone. Marius stood by and watched, hardly feeling Cosette slip her hand into his. She squeezed it, and gazed at Eponine’s retreating figure.

“I was so… sorry for her,” she breathed.

“She feels guilty about it,” he answered.

“Why? Oh, why?” Cosette grated, comely face screwing itself up into an expression of confusion and pity. “I don’t want her to feel like I blame her for any of this. She was my age when it happened, just a tiny little thing. Only a truly horrid person would hold her to her parent’s crimes!”

“Please don’t get so riled up, Cosette,” said Marius, trying to soothe her. “This is a lot to take in, okay? For all of us. Love, please don’t worry yourself.”

Cosette crumbled into his arms, tangling thin fingers into auburn strands of hair. She pressed her nose against his shoulder to stifle her tears. If it wasn’t so heart breaking, Marius would have found that he’d done this twice in less than ten minutes nothing short of comical. But it was heart breaking, and he wished for nothing but to go home and see his dying father and tell him all that was happening. He could talk for ages, about anything and everything. Tears threatened Marius, but his simply pushed these ideas to the back of his head. How much he missed his father, how much he regretted coming to this school sometimes, and how scared he was for himself.

“I’m glad I have a soft boyfriend for a tissue,” Cosette said, her voice muffled against Marius’s t-shirt. The freckled boy’s eyes shot open in surprise and he looked down, pupil’s blown, at the girl in his arms. He was hers, and she was his. The heart within him threatened to burst from his chest, and he was sure she could hear it.

“You’re okay with being my boyfriend, right?” she asked.

“What?” Marius cringed and mentally kicked himself. “I mean… yeah. Yeah, it’s chill. We’re chill. Chill…

Sniffling, she giggled a bit before burying her face back in his chest. He sighed and stared down the hall, biting his lip at the thought of Éponine.

**_Éponine_ **

They were standing before her, lips pursed and eyes shady. It made her sick to realise she was just like them. Since the day she was born her parents used her for their own disgusting tricks. They had taught her to grab necklaces when people held her, to pull off rings, play with glasses she’d never return, even “borrow” toys and cell phones. No one suspected a thing from her; and as she aged, so did her ability. Eponine could swindle and beg by age three. When she was nine, she went as far as to drug a man’s drink so she could steal the contents of his bag. Eponine was shaped by the dirty hands of these people, her parents, and showered in praise for her sins.

Monsieur Thenardier was tall with a gut that swished with the memory of rum and wine. His red hair looked like the head of a junior hairstylist’s practice dummy; singed looking strands that poked out in patches and stubble all over accept for his neck, which had a ginger neck beard that clashed with the bright orange prison uniform. You’d find him a warm person, or think at least, what with all these sunny colours that painted his person; yellow teeth and red eyes, flaming gums with black spots freckling across. Despite all this, he looked so friendly…

His Thenardiess had the same yellow smile and bloodshot eyes as her husband. The orange suit stressed against large breasts and hung off a small waist, the wrinkles mimicking those under her eyes. Long, broken nails tapped against the table while a grey tongue peeked from cracked lips. Her hair was big and grand, standing up by itself.

The couple watched her sit down and pick up the phone. Eponine looked at her reflection in the plastic screen between them instead of at her parents; she couldn’t bring herself to. The phone reached her ear, and she waited for something.

“Hello, dear,” hissed that hoarse voice she remembered her father owning. “Long time no see.”

“Hi,” she mumbled in response.

“What inspired you to visit your old folks? Just feeling sentimental?”

Eponine gulped and looked down at her hand. “I know you killed her…”

“Which her?” asked her mum, swiping tongue over teeth.

“You mean there’s more?” Eponine gasped. “I’m talking about Fantine, Cosette’s mum.”

Thenardier drew his brows together. “Cosette… That was…?”

“The girl we sold to that old guy, you drunk,” snapped his wife. “You know, we milked her poor mam for every cent she had, then snuffed the whore before she could tell the police about our fraud.”

“You’re just going to admit that to me?” Eponine asked, cocking her head in confusion. “Have you no shame?”

The Thenardiess cackled, throwing her head back. “We have nothing to lose. The stupid public screamed for our saving, and the government listened. A bunch of idiots, but we owe them I suppose for keeping our hearts beating.”

Eponine shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose (a habit she’d picked up from all those study sessions with Combeferre) so she could think. Two insane people who’d robbed and murdered the innocent were still breathing because people found the penalty too harsh; nothing strange there. She was here for a purpose, and despite the hundreds of questions she had always wanted to ask the, she needed to stay on track. She owed it to Cosette and Valjean.

“Listen, do you have any idea where your gang is?” she questioned, averting her eyes.

“Our hideout, like we told them,” her father answered nonchalantly. “Why?”

“Lamarque’s been killed, and your group is suspected for framing my friends and I.”

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” said Thenardier.

“So you did it?” said Eponine, squeezing the telephone in her hands.

“Kill Lamarque?” said the Thenardiess. “No, we were locked up before that plan could go under way.”

“But you planned it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think they could have carried it out then?”

“They have no motive but money, and there’s no money if there’s no us. Probably just sitting around in the hideout, trying to think for themselves.”

Eponine smirked. This is just the ingormation that they needed for this case. Now, all she needed was to get the location of this hideout.

“Where’s your hideout?” Eponine demanded the answer, staring down her father.

Her parents laughed into the phone, causing EPonine to hold it far from her ear. “We can’t just tell you!” her mum laughed. “Then it isn’t a secret!”

“Oh, come on, mummy,” she begged, sticking out her lip. She had held onto a few of her old tricks to get what she wanted. “Tell me. I could go to jail, and what good would that be? You don’t want me to end up in jail. They won’t let me… let me… do my hair!”

“Oh!” her mother groaned. “I can’t resist.”

“Darling…”

“Shut up, loser,” the Thenardiess snapped. “Get me paper, I’ll write down the address…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AOL would not let me log in and then I went on vacation insert excuses here the story has passed climax

“I think we need to run your entrance one more time, sweetie,” Cosette said, pulling her arm behind her head and stretching the shoulder. “It’s very choppy.”

“I’m just trying to get there in time, my darling,” Marius replied, performing a chain of chenee turns across the floor.

“Well I think you should make more haste, Marius, okay?” she continued, making her eyes large.

“Anything. Replay the music.”

Cosette pressed the play button on the stereo remote and the music began. Marius swayed in his “off stage” spot while Potter’s Waltz beat against his ear drum. Cosette, in the middle of their studio, waltzed with herself, leaping and turning with an invisible partner. Then, a great ‘woosh’ of violins rang from the speakers, and Marius _gracefully_ sprinted across to his partner, picking her up by the waist so she could leap across the floor. He had to regain his breath quickly in order to pick up their waltz, but by the time his lungs were filled, he had to lift her _twice_ again, over and over for each big violin strum. Cosette was in no better position, her pale cheeks turning pink with each leap and turn. Marius smiled warmly, enjoying being so close to her too much. When his cue to leave came, a large amount of round tunes from the strings, he frowned, but spun Cosette anyway so she could pirouette and pirouette until she fell on the ground in a _planned_ and beautiful heap, her legs folded and back arched towards where Marius’s form would be, if he had not ran “off stage” already.

She extended her arm, and Marius grabbed it as to pull her up. “How was that?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Much better,” she giggled, swinging his arms playfully and giving as many kisses as she received.

The auburn-haired boy chuckled and pressed his lips onto hers for a longer time, hugging her close. “How about we take a break?”

“Sound good to me…”

“Okay, quit making out! My boyfriend’s insane!”

The couple turned toward Grantaire, Enjolras, and Combeferre in the door way. Combeferre rolled his eyes as E and R chose to both stare and look each other down, smirks turning into smiles as fast as lip bites morphed into grins. Courfeyrac walked in with everybody else, each looking ticked off and sweaty, because they were practicing for competition in January. Feuilly was especially angry because he felt he was going to absolutely _destroy_ his pointe shoes, and was giving Jehan distressed looks because the other boy did not seem to understand the severity of this plight, but Jehan, who had ankle surgery on both legs when he was a young boy, lacked the ankle strength for pointe and didn’t fully _get_ pointe shoes. The poet, who had recently buzzed the sides of his hair and left a tuft on the top, as usual in the winter, because that was when he gave hair (like Enjolras), simply shook his head and pressed a finger to the artist’s lips. The little Thenardier’s were having a Manhattan-off, and Joly was patching up a mark on Laigle. Bahorel looked pitiful, because Éponine and Azelma had finally talked him into putting on a pair of booty shorts, and he was standing there in plain view while Grantaire and Courfeyrac laughed and took pictures.

“So why is Enjolras insane?” asked Cosette. “This time, at least?”

“Ha ha,” came the blond in question.

Combeferre lazily raised a hand to speak: “Adonis over here proposed we go to the hideout alone, since the crooks will just think we’re a couple of risk takers playing around in the abandoned house. Then, we get a bit of Intel and call the cops, who are supposed to be around to the corner incognito.”

“Fecking hell, you’re insane,” gasped Marius. “We can’t do something like that.”

“It’s not that we can’t, it’s that we do not wish to,” replied Enjolras, arms folded pretentiously. “And Mink agreed with me already, it’s a good idea. Even Javert thinks it will work. We can drive out there, hide some guns under our jackets, and make a scene out of going in the house. Marius, I think you’d be best for the sucker we trick into going inside.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re kind of… kind of…” Enjolras mumbled, searching awkwardly for the word he needed. “You’re a bit… a bit… it’s just that you’re… sort of…”

“Yes…”

“Sort of… small. I mean weak. I mean, like, super skinny and stuff.”

“So is Jehan.”

“Yeah, but he’s Jehan. You’re Marius.”

“And that means?”

“You’re such a Pontmercy!”

“This isn’t helping!”

“You’re your own adjective!”

Gavroche f-lapped his taps against the metal air vent on the floor, making a loud and obnoxious noise. Everyone looked over at him and his brothers, who were attempting tough faces with their older counterpart. “Yo, le’s ge’ on wif it!” he yelled, stomping his foot for good measure.

Combeferre spun around to the group, eyebrows relaxed and lids half-covering a sceptical stare, so he could speak for their leader. Marius began to settle down, but nearly lost it when he shot a glance at Enjolras and the pole dancer quite ostentatiously stuck his tongue out at him. He snorted and returned the gesture, only to have the blond “fix his hair” with only his middle finger. Marius (who took a second to find his middle finger) was less hidden and went full on, holding both hands high in the rude gesture.

“Boys!” shouted Combeferre, looking at the pair of them in bewilderment. “Do I need to separate you two or something?”

“No sir,” they said in unison, looking down.

“Jeez… Freaking kindergarteners,” he groaned. “Anyway, the police station agreed to the plan already, saying they’d happily supply the guns, ammo, and bullet proof under clothing. We’ll all have a walkie talkie and buzzer, each with a special button we are to press when the enforcements are needed. They show up, book the guys, get the evidence, and we go to competition scot-free, got it?”

“Well, I’m not letting Gavroche, Marzi, Henri, Sebastian, or Azelma go,” Éponine avowed. “It’s just not safe. You guys understand, don’t you?”

“I can do my science project,” Azelma said lazily as she resumed typing on her phone (a Christmas present from Bahorel). “The only issue is, I have the same tactics as ‘Ponine. Maybe I could be useful, don’t you think?”

“She has a point, ‘Ponine,” agreed Courfeyrac. “We could use all the help we can get, and Azelma is like your mirror when it comes to skill and tactic.”

Éponine shrugged and looked at her little sister, who had put her phone away and was looking at everyone with a blank expression. Azelma didn’t talk much, Marius thought, or maybe no one ever talked to her. He’d exchanged common greetings with her from time to time, asking how school and dance was, and she said fine. She was a cheerleader for most of the school’s sport teams (the ones she wasn’t playing on herself, that is), and led the competition team to international champion three times, and national champion five times. There was a lot she did, true, he knew from asking her. Azelma never gloated, or talked highly of herself, but instead kept it to the minimum when asked of her achievements, likes, and hobbies. Especially now, here she was, only slightly offering herself up for a challenge.

“It’s just that I don’t think she’ll be safe,” Éponine said. “I would hate for her to get hurt or anything.”

“Then I won’t go.”

Bahorel cocked his head. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“I don’t really mind going,” she said. “If I’m needed I can show up.”

“Again, we can use all the help we can get,” Enjolras said.

Bahorel jumped, his face brightening with an idea. “Can Marzia help?” he asked. “She’s really smart, and does martial arts. You said we need all the help we can get.”

“Why not?” shrugged Enjolras.

“Sounds good to me,” Courfeyrac added. He bent down to Gavroche’s level so he could speak the the little boys. “And you four will keep guard here, got it?”

“Ay ay!” they shouted in unison, saluting the Irish teen.

“At ease, men!” he said in response.

Marius, who was still a little shocked, stepped forward and made sure everybody got a glimpse of his confused expression. Everyone exchanged glances, and Enjolras stiffened into a challenging stance. Combeferre cocked his hips.

“You all can’t be serious?” asked Marius, looking about.

“We are, Marius,” answered Enjolras. “And we hope you’ll be as well.”

“This is incredible dangerous!” he wailed. “We’re going to get killed! These are murderers!”

“The police will be right there!”

“No!” he said sternly, stomping his foot. “I’m putting my foot down, we are _not_ doing this!”

 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this…”

They were driving down a gravel road, Jehan’s red van jumping and jolting with each turn of the wheel. Marius was miserable. There were only four seats in the car, and an open back, where most of everyone sat. In the driver’s seat was (obviously) Jehan, Feuilly in the passenger, and Enjolras and Combeferre in the only two left. The rest of the crew were resting in the back, having the nerve to _enjoy_ themselves when they were about to _infiltrate_ the secret hideout of _murderers_ , and pull _guns_ on these guys, and _tell them_ to admit to **_killing_** people. Jehan’s awkward pendulum of music taste, going from indie to classical to broadway to classic rock to straight up emo in five flat, blasted out of multiple speakers. Bahorel brought Marzia, who brought Bjorn, who brought a switch blade that he kept showing off. The mini fridge, stocked with snacks, soda, and, of course, alcohol, was emptying slowly of all its contents. Marius himself was sipping scornfully on a can of Coke.

It was in this moment of stress the auburn-headed boy chose to write a letter to his father. Yes, write a letter. I know, I know, “Hey, the 1970s called! They want their mail back!” but this was a very important and sentimental thing to Marius. From a young age, he had such an infatuation with words, so much he would practice his spelling hours into the night, often turning on his torch under the covers in order to _finally_ spell _precipice_ properly. For some time his parents would invite their rich friends over in order to have them fawn over their brilliant son, and to ensure he heard “He’ll be the next Joyce!” enough before his tenth birthday. ‘Well, perhaps one day, Marius,’ he thought to himself, speaking awkwardly in the third person, ‘you will be the next Joyce, and confuse people everywhere. Maybe even write a world renowned novel and _still_ no one will know who you are. Yes, this seems incredibly practical.’ Despite being incredibly practical, Marius didn’t want to be an author, he just wanted to write letters. Words that would reach one person and only pertained to one person were the words Marius liked, and so he let his pen fly across the stationary.

Words flew from his mind, blossoming like flowers from the ink. He told his father, his ill father who had enough on his plate, about the grand things; the murder, the framing, and Musichetta drowning. The dance competition and Éponine’s parents. Cosette’s mum, and Bahorel’s tantrum, and even how he was currently in a van driving to the secret hideout of a terrible brigand. Once that was off his chest he was able to write about the little things, like Cosette being his girlfriend, how Enjolras and Grantaire spent every waking moment debating something, why his underwear were all pink (Bossuet should not do laundry), and that his father should mail him plenty of sporks because Grantaire needed them for his art class final. Marius also planned to write that he was including four tickets to the January competition, but that was in Wales, and his father wasn’t really fit for travel.

“Hey, Joly,” he called for the other boy’s attention, pulling him away from his Sudoku book.

Joly looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“If someone wanted to travel from France to Wales in the middle of January, any mode of transportation optional, but they’re very ill, how do you think that would go?” Marius asked.

Joly cocked his head and thought for a second, then spoke to Combeferre about it, then checked one of the books in his kip sack, all while Marius anxiously waited for an answer. The hypochondriac, who – some may call it ironically – wished to pursue a career in the medical field, knew almost everything about every illness or handicap. When Marius asked why, he was answered with a shrug and, “I suppose I’d rather cure someone’s Tuberculosis than sit around wondering if I’ve got it.”

“Here you go, found it,” Joly said suddenly, dog earing a page in his book and handing it to Marius. It was a lot of words with information that spanned far from what Marius really wanted to know. “Listen, Joly,” he mumbled, scooting closer, “I want my dad to show up to the January competition, but he’s not doing so good.”

“Right, I forgot about your dad,” he sighed, scratching his chin. “If he took a boat, perhaps, over the English channel he’d be okay. Air travel is totally out of the question, and a train may be too bumpy. A ferry could be a good idea, then have an escort down a pretty smooth road. I mean, Mitochondrial disease is a big deal. It usually only gets to children, but the effects on an adult have got to be tough.”

“It’s become a bigger problem lately, I just don’t know how much longer we have,” Marius shared solemnly. “Cells aren’t dying so fast anymore, but they’re worried his lungs are going to start shutting down…”

“Maybe getting out of the house is just what he needs, you know?” said Joly with a hopeful expression. He reached over and rubbed Marius’s shoulder reassuringly. “That’s sweet, you know, wanting your dad to show up.”

“Well he is my dad,” said Marius, sounding taken aback.

Joly started and shook his head. “No, no, no,” he held, “I mean you kind of come off as unsympathetic.”

“Trust me, I am,” admitted Marius, blushing in shame, because it was the truth. “It’s more I am just this incredibly awkward person, I form opinions too early, and stick to ideas like leeches.”

“So does Enjolras,” Joly whispered, pointing to the blond. “You already sort of know that, though. Really neurotic about everything, short-tempered, and any idea he has will take an epidemic to alter. Also, and this isn’t really relevant anymore, but when he was younger he was a bit sexist. Not horridly, just in the way that he thought girls were to do certain things and those things only.”

“Weren’t all little boys?”

“I mean like middle school and freshman year younger,” Joly said. “It’s the house he was brought up in. That’s why he doesn’t notice girls, because all Enjolras cares about is politics, and to him, for a while, girls weren’t supposed to be a part of politics.”

“But that all changed…”

“When Combeferre told him how wrong it was. I guess taught him.”

“So… he’s not so perfect, huh?”

“Far from it… I mean, look where we are. What we’re doing. And you can forget that whole, ‘I’m above physical appearance’ act, he knows he’s gorgeous and uses it to his advantage.”

Marius laughed and wrote the last line of his letter shakily. It instructed his father to show it to his mother or granddad,  but this was useless information to add because one of them would have to read it to him. It dawned on him he hadn’t seen his father in months, and that the man was going to be so changed when he saw him next, whether it be positive or not. One time, Marius returned from summer camp and his father just watched him from afar, but never up close, and when they went to mass Mr Pontmercy hid behind a pillar. “Darling, did you like what Father Morgan said today?” his mother asked him. “I didn’t hear a thing,” his father replied in a hushed voice. “I hope this isn’t bad, but I just had to see my son.” Marius, who was a little boy when this happened, became upset and wailed in the parking lot that, “You see me all the time, daddy!”

He swallowed loudly and folded the letter into his kip sack, wishing he’d be able to deliver it. Jehan parked the car in front of the house in a drunken manner, then opened the door to scream, “This place is wicked!” The door was slammed shut and he turned to everyone. “Selling the act,” he explained. “Now, is everyone ready?”

“No!” shouted Marius.

“You don’t count,” snapped Enjolras, pulling out the bag the cops had provided them. On his walkie talkie he contacted Mink, who was literally just around the corner, hiding, with the other police. “Enjolras, here, we’ve arrived.”

“Great,” replied Mink, his voice scratchy in the machine. “Listen, just hide the guns how we showed you to. Bjorn and Marzia, you two could lead since you’re both on gun competition at your school. Small world, so was I. One time, I…”

“Officer, listen, I respect you, but can we get to the point?” interrupted Enjolras. “Hide the guns, and be careful not to say anything to complicated because Marzia told us her English wasn’t too good.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’m going to let the Inspector speak to you.”

“It’s Javert, Mink, please,” grumbled the professor. “Hey, kids. Despite the tiny part within me that wishes you’d still be convicted for the framing, a larger part of me knows that isn’t right, and that I need to help you. Listen, for a while we’re going to pretend I don’t run the school with the dance team in possession of a decade old blood feud with your dance team, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

“Alright, great. So, hide your guns how we showed you, and don’t bring them out until a threat is actually there. Spread out and be ready to shoot at all costs, then run. Press the buzzer and run into the woods, we’ll handle it all from there. See what you can figure out, then call us when you feel you have enough evidence. I entrust you leave all the talking to Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac. Bjorn, Bahorel, and Marzia, you are the strongest so take the sides and be vigilant. All clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good luck, team. And try to act drunk, sell the act.”

Grantaire chuckled and raised his beer. “Way ahead of you!”

Enjolras handed out the guns, the same kind police used; pistols with a strong force and a rack of bullets to go with it. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to shoot more than once, or none at all. Everyone was on edge while securing their guns, even Enjolras. Musichetta and Grantaire relayed the directions to Marzia in a mix of Italian and Spanish so she had a clear picture of what was to go down. Marius was selfishly glad he had a girlfriend to snuggle close to for reassurance, and he wasn’t the only one; Feuilly pressed a reassuring kiss on Jehan’s temple, and Joly would not let go of Laigle’s arm. Musichetta joined their chain while bullet proof covering was put on. Éponine got slightly teary eyes while putting padding on Azelma, but maybe it was just the light… Marius laughed and praised the heavens that it was winter, so their coats covered the puffiness in their clothing. Enjolras slipped on his read beanie, that actually belonged to Grantaire, and exited the van. The rest followed…

“Hey, man,” the blond laughed in a gawky tone, “bet you a box of Ramen you can’t walk up and ring the doorbell on that house!”

This was all part of the act. Like a play, he just needed to stick to his lines, to stay in character. “Pssh! Course I can!” he scoffed, shoving Enjolras then mouthing ‘sorry.’ “Give me something a bit tricky, huh?”

“Sure, ya wimp,” slurred Grantaire, slinging his arm around Marius. “You have to walk in that old house, an’ then you gotta go inside.”

“Then you gotta give us the all clear, an’ we’ll go too,” added Combeferre, whose d-bag teenager voice was so incredibly convincing Marius threw up a little. “Have a little _party_ if you know what I mean, heh heh!”

“Give ‘im a good luck kiss, girly,” cackled Éponine. Cosette walked over to Marius and, for a second, all this pretending was forgotten. She pressed her lips against his for a few golden seconds, and Marius took it like it was the last interaction he’d ever have as a human. She pulled away and squeezed his hand reassuringly. Marius gulped and headed up the steps, feeling his hidden weapon with the tip of his finger. The old door was falling off its hinges, and when he tried to knock it swung open. The foyer was just as old and dirty. He tip toed inside, blessing dance class, and peered around the corner. His heart stopped to see a fire in the place, and a few stacks of money or food can left all around the floor. Marius would’ve described the sleeping and relaxing people as, ‘bodies slung about the room in strange positions,’ but then he remembered these were murderers and that served a completely different message than desired.

Once again on dancer’s toes he made it to the front door and nervously gave the signal, which was just him waving his arms in a spasmodic manner. The rest of the crew walked up, laughing and nervously trying to give off the impression they were just a bunch of drunk teens looking for a good time, and not junior undercover cops on a murder case. Everyone slowly entered the room with all the people and attempted to be surprised.

“Woah, they beat us here,” laughed Combeferre, who Marius was thinking seriously needed to take up acting. “Sorry, mates, don’t wanna intrude, just looking for a neat place to mess around in, aight?”

A rough looking fellow, who looked like he should be finishing up college by his age, stood up and stretched. He yawned, extending a hand to Combeferre. Marius thought he was gonna fail this obvious “cool guy test,” but yet again the young genius surprised him. He waited for someone to lean over and tell him that Combeferre had a band of older brothers who were basically kings of fraternity; and then he looked around, confused, because no one did.

“We’re just chillin’, man, you can crash here I guess,” said the man. “Er… one condition, though.”

“And that is?”

“Got any booze?”

Jehan waved his hand up. “Whole fridge full in my van!” he announced. “Unless brandy breath over here drank it all.”

“Far from it,” Grantaire chuckled. “But slowly approaching.”

“Sounds good!” he cackled. “The name is Ripley, just Ripley. Take a seat. Just don’t wake Monty.”

“Whatever, man,” Combeferre replied. “Jehan, Feuilly, go an’ get the drink, I’ll comfy myself. C’mon, ‘Ponine…”


	10. Marius Drew and the Clue Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering why this took me so fecking long to update, it's because AO3 would not let me log in. I've still be writing, so expect those chapters up sooner. Doctor Combeferrible is also being updated later so.... yeah

Marius sat down uncomfortably on a dusty ottoman, the gun poking into his hip bones. Cosette leaned against his legs and played with his shoe laces. Jehan and Feuilly brought back the tiny, half empty fridge full of alcohol; for the first time ever Marius lunged at one of those brown bottles. With swift fingers he popped the cap and shivered as cool, burning liquid fell down his throat. The bottle was emptied, the work done. He'd done his part and got them in, added to the idea. Combeferre made conversation with their leader, Enjolras and Courfeyrac getting each crone dizzy with smoke and drink. Soon each greasy felon was swaying to and fro, drunk ramblings pouring from their mouths. Now was the time for action.

Adrenaline surged through Marius's veins, and he blurted, "Cool pad! Sure wouldn't mind if we had someplace like this to chill out in."

"This bloody kip?" Ripley slurred, raising what looked like tweezed eyebrows. "You can have it, by all means, man."

"What about you lot?" asked Combeferre.

Ripley snorted and set his bottle far away from himself. His rosy cheeks made the green in his eyes become incredibly intense, and Marius had to look away. He padded his watering eyes with his shirt collar, hoping to go unnoticed, but one of the larger men grabbed him from the back and lifted his lithe body from his perch.

"Wha' this lightweight, a 'motional drunk, aight?" he gargled, slapping Marius on the shoulder.

"No, no," Marius assured, staggering, "just a little dust in my eyes. Ripley, continue…"

The older fellow gave him an odd look. "Right…" he sighed. "So, I've gotten what I needed from these guys, you know? The money, that's all I wanted. I changed the world a bit, too, y'know, along the way, but, man, I'm prepping to fly the nest, or whatever it is. See, I wanna be a doctor – one that makes little kids feel better, you know? Like, my little brother… he… he isn't 'round 'nymore, but, man, I sure do miss him… But… But when I told my folks about wannin' to go t'med school, they tell me, 'We gone and spend all our money on the little boy!' An' I'm stuck wonderin', is why we had to go spend all our money if he was gonna die anyway?"

Cosette, sweet natured and caring, crawled across the floor and placed a hand on Ripley's knee. She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, and Marius would've become jealous if it hadn't been for the look of pure insecurity and emotion on the other man's face. Finally, Ripley turned his hand over and squeezed her tiny fingers within his, then set her dainty hand on the floor, giving Marius a trusting look. It was hard to remember this man was a murderer, not a kicked puppy.

"Thank you, darlin'," said Ripley; he corrected himself, "Ma'am, I meant. Sorry, the juice is going to my head."

Combeferre, eyes forever on the prize, pressed Ripley further, although his voice was softer and a great deal more Combeferre-like. "You mentioned money," he said.

"Yeah, my parental units went and spent all their hard earned savings on their little boy, only to have a bunch o'lazy doctors give up," grunted the other.

"But money you gained, you said you gained money?" Combeferre tried again, his statement twisting into a question.

Ripley sat up straighter and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He flipped it open to reveal a badge. "I work for a special agency… Recently, we had to go a lil DL, 'cause a rankin' officer lost her marbles an' started this whole storm of stuff. Now, e'rybody an' their uncle thinks we're a gaggle of murderers, when we're the ones protecting people."

Enjolras liked the sound of what he heard, because he began interrogating their suspect. "The Nat'l Guard?" he asked.

"That's it!" whooped Ripley. "We go an' protect these people, yeah, but she shows up! Now, we had to go break some bones to stay safe, but we didn't do any of the stuff she's done!"

"She?" parroted Courfeyrac. "She? Who is she?"

"Monty's mum! Gets our location and ruins the whole purpose!"

"What about my mum?"

"Montparnasse?!"

"Éponine?"

"Feck…"

"What are you guys doing here?" Montparnasse thundered, erupting from his sleeping area like a rocket and charging on Enjolras.

"Stand down, they're cool," Ripley muttered, pulling on the teen's sleeve.

Monty pulled his arm away and glared straight on at the group before him. Marius saw Enjolras's hands tempting the folds of his coat. He, too, pressed a secure hand to the pistol, taking nervous ease at its presence. As if expecting something, Bahorel and Marzia flanked the group.

"These guys," started Montparnasse, sounding delirious, "these guys aren't cool, Ripley! These guys wanna get you in jail! These guys wanna lock you and me up so nothing good ever happens to us! Not even a steady trial, just believe what the law says! Well you know what I say?"

"Montparnasse, watch yourself," Enjolras warned.

Monty picked up a dusty phone from the coffee table. "I say injustice!" he yelped, dialling and slamming the phone on the receiver over and over, as his fingers shook and mucked up whatever he had been trying to dial. "Just because I share the last name does not mean I play by the same rules!"

Marius could hardly digest the shine of the multiple pistols being lifted by his friends. He clumsily struggled to free his from its hiding place, turned both red and green in a mix of bubbling emotions. He just wanted to scream! Normal teenagers didn't have to deal with this! He wasn't fecking Nancy Drew and her goddamn Clue Crew, he was a fifteen-year-old dancer with too much school work and, not to mention, a competition riding on his shoulders to also become a freaking secret spy, and he most certainly did not need to be standing in the middle of who-the-heck-knows-anymore with a police pistol clamped in his hands. By Davy, though, he was all that a probably a little bit more, and what he would kill to just be back at his dorm house, soaking his feet in water, texting Cosette stupid little emoticons, and finishing his novella project. In fact, he would give up all that just to be at his own home, even with his overbearing grandfather who never felt anything but tolerance for him, his annoying great aunt who did whatever her brother did, his emotional rollercoaster of a mother, and his delusional and dying father who probably doesn't even remember he has a son.

"Marius, what are you doing?" Cosette screamed, pulling his forearm with tremendous force. Police lights were shining through the windows, the cronies looking for any way to escape wherever they were. Montparnasse was punching at a window, screeching, 'You'll see! They'll come for you!' Ripley, green eyes complimented by blue tears, shook his head in resignation as the authorities burst through the door and rounded up each and every one of the people who, up until now, Marius loathed passionately. He watched as Montparnasse crumpled against an officer, the needle hanging from his arm. He watched as crone after crone was shuffled and read their rights. He watched, guiltily, as Ripley offered his wrists to the policeman and shared all his information about hidden weapons, drugs, money, and alcohol with a sombre voice, then followed the surprise cop from the home with relaxed dignity.

The commotion died down, and Cosette stopped pulling on his arm.

Marius noticed bullet shells on the floor. Eyes roved over blood splotches and the shaking body of a giant brute cradling his right hand. Marius looked down at his gun in surprise, then back at Cosette.

"Did I do that?" he murmured, scared to death of himself.

She shook her head and cupped his cheeks in her hands. "No, no, you didn't do that," she sighed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It was… Grantaire just… someone lunged at Enjolras, and Grantaire took him down… Éponine and Courfeyrac slammed down on the man and he threw Courf to the wall and Grantaire broke his shoulder… I was so scared, and little Azelma… Oh, the poor thing, her fingers just shook and she shot…"

"What about Éponine?"

"Marius…"

"What happened?" he questioned, heart rate speeding. "Grantaire? Courfeyrac? What happened to them? Are they okay?"

"Marius, calm down, wait until…"

He didn't hear what she said last, because he shoved her aside and stormed outside. A pack of ambulances packed in Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Éponine, all on stretchers with blood pouring from some area of their anatomy. Azelma sat at the edge of a fourth, a blanket wrapped around her and a female medic trying to calm her. She wailed and wailed into the blanket, her knees knocked together while she was racked with sobs. Enjolras looked right angry, his eyes on fire as he watched the police cars and ambulances trail away. Cosette rushed down the steps and hurled herself at Marius, grabbing his face and shaking him into awareness.

"She's not…?" he began.

"Not quite," she answered, pulling him into a tight hug.

This was not what normal fifteen-year-olds did, he reminded himself. Normal fifteen-year-olds sat around watching the telly and procrastinating on homework. Normal kids his age quoted Father Ted, not a law book. Normal kids his age did not, under any circumstances, need to clamp onto their girlfriend for support because he could not physically or emotionally handle all that was happening around him.

Enjolras's voice beat softly against his ear drum. He didn't work to numb him out, instead listening intently. "Make sure each gets a fair trial and interrogation," he heard the blond say. "Especially Montparnasse and Ripley. I do not think Ripley's done too much wrong, and Montparnasse is… unwell, by the looks of it."

"I assure you, Enjolras, everything will be taken care of," answered Mink. "You guys need to rest easy."

"I'll appear for witness if I need to," added the blond.

"Rest," insisted Javert, who sounded rather pleased. "You lot did a great job… It's a damn shame for Monty, though… I knew he had some problems, I just never thought… Ah, whatever it is, we'll bring it to light soon."

"Right Inspector, I mean… Javert."

"What's best for you kids is to spend your break as far as here from possible."

"We're all going to my family's home in France."

"Sounds great. Enjoy your break, we'll get back to you as soon as we have something to share."

"Another round for the house!"

"Courfeyrac, we're in a Greek restaurant, not a bar," laughed Éponine, pulling down the boy's arm. He pouted in her direction, then handed her a straw. She took it with a raised eyebrow, and wondered if the knock to his head was worse than the doctor had told them.

"It's for the itch," he said softly, taking it back and unwrapping it. "You've been squirming like nobody's business."

"What's a straw going to do for my itchy cast?" she asked, giggling.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and stuck the straw down her cast. Éponine first jumped, then shrugged, then shivered, and finished by making a string of moans. Combeferre raised an eyebrow and did that little laugh of his; you know, the one where he smiles quite vaguely, and huffs a breath that shoots out of his nose but makes his chest rise and fall in the time of one second. That one. Gavroche once said it reminded him of a dragon.

"If you'd like to cease your cast-itch-porno now, we'd greatly appreciate it," Cosette said, taking a sip from her glass of water. "So, Enjolras, our plane leaves tomorrow you said?"

The blond set down his fork and swallowed his bite of some Greek dish that Marius, embarrassingly, had called Ravioli… "Yes, Cosette, Mother and Father have agreed to open their house to my friends in the case that they promise to watch their behaviour."

"I have no idea why you're looking at us, Enjolras," laughed Courfeyrac. "I don't think your mum mentions to her friends how her pole-dancing, gay as a diamond-studded rainbow offspring is leading the revolution against everything the rich, upper class believe in. I would know. My mother has very little to put on the fridge than my STD checks and dance photos."

"At least you protect yourself and partners, Courfeyrac," inserted Jehan.

Cosette giggled and set down her glass. "Please, Courf goes through more rubber than the tire company."

Gavroche was blowing bubbles in his milk, leading his brothers to follow with the same actions. Musichetta laughed softly and pulled the straws gently away from their mouths, wiping their faces and the surrounding table. "Watch yourselves, boys."

Marius smiled softly as he dug deeper into his salad. Everyone sounded… so mature. Like all the childlike nature of their personalities had been washed away all of a sudden. His heart ached in his chest for the care free feeling only a few months previous, but he relished in this new found emotion. Wise beyond his years, that was what they all were now. A bunch of school kids, never held a gun, trying to bring something to justice.

And still, in the air, hung the fact that the culprit was still out there. Whoever she was, she roamed about, haunting Montparnasse with her memory. Montparnasse was still a sour being, who most certainly was not let off the hook because he had some problems, but pity and compassion were just as required. Not every evil in the world is without a back drop, the events reminded him.

"There still looking, Enjolras," whispered Feuilly, shifting his shoulders in the direction of a table filled with three large men in dark suits. Their interest in the dancers were not missed; would hold a gaze for minutes at a time, and speak of them loudly.

"I've noticed, Feuilly," Enjolras answered, keeping his gaze down. "Courfeyrac, the manager is a woman, she looks about our age. Bring her over and keep her here. Grantaire, follow me outside. Combeferre, get ready to evacuate at a moment's notice."

"Yes, Captain," he replied, jokingly saluting the blond.

Courfeyrac called the manager over, a beautiful girl with soft, brown skin and black hair that hung over her shoulder, tied back with a red velvet band. Beautiful tattoos twisted about her arms and, Marius inferred, the rest of her body. Courfeyrac took notice of them, and grinned wildly. Grantaire and Enjolras stole out, walking outside with the excuse of needing a breather. Of course, ever the actors, Grantaire slid his hand from his boyfriend's back down to his  _back side_ …

"These tattoos, ma'am," Courf began, acknowledging her arm, "are pieces of art."

"Oh, thank you," she gushed, a shade of red painting her cheeks. "How can I help you all?"

"This is embarrassing," Courfeyrac said, giving her a goofy smile. "See, I just… Had to call you over. You're… incredibly pretty, and I thought someone who looks smart must  _be_ smart. I just  _had_ to talk to you."

"Oh! My, I…"

"I'm sorry, that was out of line."

"No, no, I'm just not used to…"

"I hope you don't say being complimented, because you really deserve a large amount of good words in your direction."

"Well, I was."

"That's crazy. These tattoos, are they henna?"

"A few of them, yes, but I've done a couple on my own. I mean, designed, that is."

"Lovely… Ah, I see the small signature on this one of a robin… Do you paint?"

"I sculpt."

"Sculpt… You bring this beauty to life?"

"Yes… I do."

Combeferre jerked up suddenly, his phone hanging loosely in his hand. Grantaire was back inside the front of house, a look of desperation on his face. One of the men was getting up, going to the door and pressing Grantaire to flee. They would not try anything on the group at the table with the manager right there, but Enjolras was outside and unarmed. Marius caught a glimpse of the text on Combeferre's phone, a shining bubble. "We need to move," it read. A muffled bang, and the whole restaurant gasped. Enjolras was thrown against the windows.

"Move out, troops!" Éponine shouted.

The familiar feeling as earlier. He'd felt this way in the house. Everything slowed, and objects became nothing but jumbles of light and colour. Bodies would press against your own and you wouldn't notice anything but the sweat. Ideas and tactics filled his head to the rim as he slid from the booth. Marius didn't question anything, didn't wonder. This time, however, he kept his eyes on the prize, his focus on the task at hand. The suits lifted from their seats, the blond curls escaped hairy fingers, and red sneakers travelled at high speeds away from the restaurant.

They all moved for the door, the men standing as well. Courfeyrac stopped to look at the manager. "I have to go," he said, "but I'll be back to hear all about your work."

"Courfeyrac!" screamed Bahorel, giving him a wild look.

"Right!" Courf yelled back, running to the door. "Call the police!"

"Anything!" she replied, sending a waiter to the kitchen. She approached the rising men, trying to confront them. Marius heard her soft words of reason get cut off by a strong fist contacting roughly with her body. Courfeyrac growled as they ran across the parking lot, the sound of blood pumping against their ear drums. Why had they parked so far away? It was later, less cars filled what was once an overflowing parking lot, but their limbs still caught onto cars and trucks. Jehan's van was at the completely other end of the outlet.

Cosette shed her heels and sped past Marius, catching up to Jehan and taking the keys. She unlocked the car and time slowed as bodies threw themselves into whatever door they got to first. Someone's foot slammed against the pedal and the vehicle screeched as it left the parking lot. They zoomed down the road, wheels crying out as the broke the speed limit. The men in suits followed behind, their car far away but still a threat. Then Marius heard a scream he'd never heard before.

"Why am I driving?" shrieked Enjolras, looking at the wheel in his hands. "Why am I driving?"

Enjolras didn't have a license.

Enjolras didn't even have a permit.

The instructor told him his driving was something to be feared.

"We're all going to die," gasped Joly as he was thrown across the van with a sharp turn.

"Enjolras! Focus!" cried Cosette, holding onto the seats for dear life.

"I am focused, Cosette! I've also been responsible for five student-driver car accidents! What am I doing?"

Combeferre looked frightened for the first time. Marius even heard him whimper as Enjolras swerved down a near-empty back road. The van jumped about, throwing their bodies to and fro. The four little boys in the van pulled brave faces, breaking Marius's heart. He'd remembered having to be brave when all he wanted to do was cry and scream, to tell everyone how scared of death he was… even if it wasn't even his own death he was approaching. Grantaire bowed his head to pray to a god he probably didn't believe in. Marius looked out the windows at the other car following them, keeping the others posted on its closeness.

"It's gaining," he announced, voice shaking. "The cars are thinning, we can't shake it."

"I'm going to kill you all," Enjolras dead panned, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. "I've led all my friends to their death."

"Proximity, Marius?" Combeferre asked.

"About two and a half cars away. Don't let off the speed. If they accelerate, we're goners."

"So what do we do?" came Jehan.

Bossuet bit his lip and crawled over to the driving area. He grabbed onto the passenger seat and took a deep breath. "Listen to me," he grumbled, voice low.

Combeferre gave the unlucky teen wild eyes. "Don't take offense to this, Laigle, but you aren't exactly the luckiest man alive."

"I know!" Laigle roared. "I know! Listen to me! Enjolras, take a turn down there."

"There?"

"Yeah."

"Bossuet, there's no road," Courfeyrac informed him urgently, looking over the curve of trees to the street lights. There was no turn, no, but four stop lights. Marius suspected that a road was _supposed_ to be there, but alas it was not.

"I'm aware," Bossuet answered gruffly. "Take a turn. Marius, unlock the doors. Prepare yourselves, everyone, to run."

"Into the woods?"

"Into the woods."

Enjolras gulped loudly and softened his grip on the wheel. Marius unlocked the door, and Bahorel offered his strength to keeping them shut. Musichetta and Cosette, both barefoot from discarding their high heels when they became a problem, grabbed dirty sneakers from around the van. The turn came close, and everyone looked to the front with determination.

Bossuet whispered, "Now…"

Enjolras jerked the wheel to the right. "I love you guys," Marius gasped, his body flying back and the doors bumping open. They all ran into the woods, listening for the sound of the men following them. Cosette, again, passed him. Her hand grabbed his for a short second, but it was enough. Éponine grabbed the little twins, Bahorel holding onto Azelma's hand, and Courfeyrac holding Gavroche tight to his body. That's when Marius noticed an absence in their party.

"Eponine!" he called. "Eponine! Where's Sebastian?"

"Oh, my gosh! Sebastian!"

" 'Ponine!"

"I hear him!" Marius said. "Keep going! I'll get him!"

He sped in the other direction, feet hitting the ground hard as he followed the sound of Sebastian's voice. He saw the little boy, standing alone and confused in the middle of the woods. Marius noticed what looked like flashlights in the distance and lowered his body to the ground. He grabbed the small Thenardier's body and hid him beneath his jacket.

"Don't talk," he breathed, watching the lights roam over the area. The little boy shook but listened anyway.

Whoever it was decided there was nothing, and left. Marius lifted himself up slowly. He hoisted Sebastian into his arms and ran him as best he could down the path. He hoped sincerely that he was going in the right direction. He didn't see or hear the group again, but Marius just kept running. Hours later they approached the end of the wooded area. He set Sebastian down and got out his phone.

"Hey, where you guys at?" he asked Cosette. She'd answered the phone almost immediately.

"We're checking into the Inn across the road," she replied. "I've stepped out into the parking lot… I see you! Oh, my gosh I was so scared."

"We're fine, darling… I'll be over."

"Hopefully this'll all be over."


End file.
